Bear Creek Road
by Jonesn
Summary: He smelled nice, I noticed, not that I was blatantly breathing him in, even though I totally was – blatantly. All soap and sawdust from a slab of freshly cut lumber. All man. Introducing Beardward. AH
1. Finding the Place

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Beta'd by SunflowerFran3759.

Mistakes are my own.

* * *

So, this is a new story that I'm starting. One that's filled with all my fantasies of a grunting, bearded mountain man. And while the characters will quite quickly jump into a sexual relationship, there is a reason behind it, and a dim light to brighten their way.

There will be bears and beer, beards and banging…lol There will be angst and sadness, but also humor and happiness.

I will not promise an HEA. But seriously...when have I ever_ not_ delivered one?

I'm hoping to post at least once a week, maybe every week and a half – 1k words or more chaps. I have a few of them written already, so just cross your fingers and hope that people will leave me alone so I can write.

Okay, now that that's out of the way, I can introduce you to **Beardward… **(in ch.2)

Oh and, **P.s.**

I don't mind if you spread that word around.

**Beardward.**

* * *

**Finding the Place**

It was half passed five when I finally found it – hidden behind the moss on an overgrown Oak tree.

It was pure luck, too; that in that moment, the wind picked up, blowing the branches, and allowing the sun to break through, casting a glare off of an old, rusted mailbox.

Pure luck.

Pulling off to the side of the road, I came to a bumpy stop to take a surveying glance around.

The ad had said secluded; secluded and quiet. And seeing as the closest neighbor was about, oh, three miles back, there was no reason _not_ to believe that when the realtor had referred to the grounds as _quaint_, she hadn't actually meant _condemned_.

But still, looking at all this unexpected shrubbery, I had to wonder.

Breathing in another good lung-full of fresh, dewy air, I slowly blew it out; rolling up the window, before taking a chance, and blindly turning into the overgrown greens – only relaxing once they parted, opening up to the tracks of a well-worn path.

The further I drove, the thicker the gravel, the louder it popped under the weight of my tires. And it wasn't all that far back, before I was pulling up to park beside a misplaced, Cadillac Coupe Deville.

Beautifully restored; I noticed the chrome, smooth and shining against the powdery-pink paint, before lifting my gaze up to find the wide, toothy smile of its waiting owner.

Not wasting another one of her seconds, I cautiously opened the door, holding it tight against a careless gust of wind. I was already wasting her time; the last thing she needed was for me to put a dent in the side of that beauty.

"Hi, I'm Alice," the woman greeted, creeping up on me; her cropped, raven hair hardly moving in the cool, whipping wind.

I smoothed mine back and out of my eyes, before taking her outstretched hand.

"Bella, I know." She winked, answering for me, continuing to shake my tiring hand; proving her energy even more exhausting in person. "We've talked so many times on the phone, I feel as if we already know each other. Ya know what I mean?"

I smiled and nodded, even though I didn't feel that way at all.

This woman could talk until she was blue in the face and probably would, but we still wouldn't know each other; not really.

"Well, you probably want to see the house, huh?" She asked, finally letting go of my hand to turn and motion for me to follow; her mouth yapping all the way across the muddy lawn, and up the front porch stairs.

"This was the Black's old place, Billy Black." Jiggling the keys, she pushed them into the lock, before turning to me, as if to ask if I knew him; which was ridiculous, seeing as I came from all the way across the country.

With a lift of my eyebrows, she started up again.

"Anyway, Jake, his son, has been trying to sell this place for _years – _ever since moving to the city; poor kid," she sighed, the shake subtle from the back of her head, before continuing. "Lost his father so young, too young, only eighteen, but smart, real smart, got himself a full scholarship at that big college in Seattle…" Stopping, she turned, pursing her lips with a gesture of her hand.

"University of Washington?" I guessed out loud, and she snapped her fingers, the purse growing upward into a relieved smile.

"Yes! University of Washington…U-dub!" She snapped again, pointing to the ceiling, before whirling back around to lead me through the front door with way too much energy.

Ten minutes, and I already felt like I needed a nap.

"He was a good one, too; came home every weekend, kept it up the best he could, until he met a girl, at least. Nessie, I think it was." Nodding, she hummed, "Yeah, Nessie. Weird name, if you ask me." Her voice wandering off as she pulled the white sheets from the coffee tables, the worn, leather chairs, and then finally the brown and yellow, plaid couch.

"Furniture's not the greatest, but it's better than the floor, I guess." She shrugged, sounding as if she didn't believe it either.

"You got any kids?"

Looking up briefly, she threw aside the dusty fabric.

"No."

"Me either, but we've been trying. Can't wait to have them, ya know?"

I didn't.

And I was thankful when she just continued unmasking the horrid furniture, jumping to the next question without really waiting for an answer.

"Any siblings?"

"No."

"Husband?"

"No."

"Boyfriend?"

Looking back up from needlessly fluffing the pillows, she placed her hands on her hips, waiting this time, seeming especially interested.

Crossing my arms, I just stood there, having never felt more exposed by being asked so many personal questions in a given day.

_What did she care?_

_What did it matter to her if I had any of these things or not?_

We weren't friends.

And I didn't need one.

Clearing my throat, I decided not to answer, taking it upon myself to look around the rest of the house, the clicking of Alice's heels following closely behind me.

"Now, the house was treated for termites last summer, so you have a good four years before you may have to do it again. But, my husband, Jasper, he's a contractor," she yammered, using her hands for emphasis. "And like I said, Jake was a good kid, so he replaced the insulation, doubled up on it, I think, and that was all for free. So, if you're needing any help on the restoration, he's always available, twenty-four seven, no questions asked."

The way she rambled made me wonder if it was even necessary for her to breathe.

I'd never seen someone talk so much; never. Not in all my twenty-eight years.

"Oh shit, and here…" Pushing her way around me, she turned on the kitchen sink, showing me how the brown water spewed from the faucet, spitting and sputtering. "You need all new piping." Biting her lip, she held out a hand, as if she knew what I was thinking. "I know, I know, just hear me out," she pleaded, turning off the water, before making her way over to stand in front of me. "Jasper can do that too, no problem, top of the line material at the lowest price, may God strike me dead," she swore with a raise of her right hand, her eyes wide and desperate.

It must have been a miracle for her that I was even here. The only one stupid enough to put a down payment on property they'd never seen.

Sighing, I shook my head, knowing this was going to happen.

But, what the hell?

I needed a distraction.

And it was useless to complain when she was offering one.

"When can Jasper come over and how long will this take?" I asked, wondering how long it would be before I could enjoy a nice, warm shower.

Something I did almost daily.

Squealing, she pulled me in for a hug, and I stiffened in her arms.

"First thing tomorrow, as soon as the sun rises, three days, tops, promise."

I trusted her about as much as I trusted her contractor husband, even with the honest sparkle beaming out of those bright, green eyes.

_Three days, my ass._

But, I agreed, none the less.

"Okay, tomorrow, as soon as the sun rises."

She fervently nodded her head. "Yes, absolutely, and I want you to come over for breakfast while they're working, you can shower and eat and we can get to know each other better." Giggling - she actually giggled, squeezing me tight, before finally letting me go. "You won't regret this, Bella, I promise you that. You won't regret anything about this, nothing."

I wasn't so sure.

And after Alice had me walk her out to the car, handing me a pile of directions, and a lamp light so I could see them, I was positive that I would.

Regret this, that is.

"Oh, and one last thing…there's no electric."


	2. Getting to know it

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Beta'd by SunflowerFran3759.

Mistakes are my own.

* * *

Omg, Beardward!

* * *

**Getting to know it**

I was pretty sure I once read somewhere that a house was a being; a living, breathing thing with thoughts and feelings; that gave and took. And if you weren't careful, mindful of its needs and what it was trying to tell you, it could turn, proving to be the biggest, most regrettable pain in your sorry, indebted ass.

Kind of like this one was now.

Holding out the lamp light that Alice so thoughtfully left for me, I slowly made my way down the darkened hall, stubbing my toe on a raised floorboard.

"Goddammit!" I growled out, grabbing my throbbing foot to hop around on the other, realizing in that moment that I was stuck with the worst kind of all – a house with a grudge.

Not the creepy kind with an evil, havoc-inducing spirit that terrorized and then killed you, no; although it was pretty creepy, how it creaked and cried, straining under the weight of the whining wind.

But that was normal, right?

Right.

Totally normal, I told myself, gritting my teeth, and blowing out a soothing breath through the flare of my nostrils.

I was a grown woman; I was not scared, just concerned for the structure, how sturdy it really was, given that supposedly-taken-care-of termite infestation. One fallen branch from the hollowed-out trunk of that Sycamore out back, and the roof was a goner.

Placing my palm on the torn, flowered wallpaper, I followed it slowly, testing every step to the first door on the right, thankful when I actually found a bed to collapse on.

Setting the still-lit lamp on the bedside table, I didn't even bother turning down the sheets, crawling onto the springy mattress to collapse on my stomach.

If not for the sporty wallpaper, I would have wondered whose bedroom I was in. But given the strip of bubbled-up balls, gloves and wooden baseball bats, I ventured to guess it was Jacobs.

From what I gathered from Alice, all the spare rooms had once been filled with kindness and love; a fact I think proven by the thoughtful decoration, and how he left it unchanged after all these years. And I felt my heart actually ache for him, the pain he endured in this shell of a house. And these walls, they suffered with him, absorbing the stress and sadness of a boy who was lost and without a mother.

Closing my eyes, I felt them sting, filling with tears I refused to shed.

I couldn't do anything to fix that little boy, but I could fix his house.

And I would.

.

.

The sun is what woke me, beaming brightly onto the lid of my eye, burning straight through and into my retina.

I turned my head, but couldn't go back to sleep; a light-sweat breaking out, moistening every surface of my too-warm skin.

I was surprised I got any sleep at all, not having a fan and no air conditioning. Not only did they keep you cool, but they produced a soothing sound; one that lulled you into dreamland with a constant calming hum.

I missed them.

Yawning, I pushed up onto all fours, slowly crawling off the still-made bed, to place my feet on the cool, wood floor, wishing it and all the walls a mumbled, _good morning_.

I had a lot of making up to do for something I hadn't even done.

And what better way to start than with a simple introduction?

To an outsider, it would have seemed crazy; walking the length of the hallway, roaming the structure slowly, feeling it beating just under the pads of your outstretched fingers.

But, it felt right to me; getting to know it, letting it get to know me.

It just felt right.

Walking out the back door, I left it open, allowing the fresh, cool breeze to flow through the house, airing out the stuffy smell of mothballs and years of pent-up dust.

And I took the beaten path barefoot, winding my way through the weed-filled garden, all the way back to the creek Alice and I found, just beyond the tree line.

Dipping my sore toe in the water, I considered wading into it to help cool my over-heated skin. But the revving hum of approaching, heavy machinery nixed all ideas for a relaxed, summer morning.

Piping had to take priority, I reasoned, unless I wanted to bathe in the water of the shallow, bubbling brook. And just the_ thought_ of being outside in the buff caused a shiver to run down my spine…and not in a good way.

I wasn't that brave or adventurous.

So, cautiously climbing out of the muddy bank, I made my way across the overgrown field, ignoring the tickle of the over-grown grass as it clung to my feet.

By the time I reached the back door, they were already digging, wandering in and out of the open house. I stood back watching them work, contemplating going inside and hiding until they were through when a shaggy-haired blonde approached, his kind eyes beaming blue.

"Sorry for the intrusion." He smiled easy and light, holding out a hand. "We knocked, but there was no answer. And Alice, well, she insisted we get started straight away." Firmly shaking it, I quickly crossed my arms over my chest, realizing I wasn't wearing a bra under my tight-as-hell tank top. "I'm Jasper, by the way, Alice's husband," he introduced, though I had already guessed as much.

"Bella."

His smile grew even wider and I looked down to make sure the ladies were completely covered.

"Yes, I know, Alice's new, best friend."

Oh, well, I wasn't too sure about that.

"Anyway, Bella, I know Alice told you three days, but it's gonna take at least five, with the amount of corrosion that needs to be dug up, there's just no way to do it in less." His demeanor was regretful; the grimace conveying an unspoken apology, and since I was already expecting it, his news came as less of a blow.

But a blow, nonetheless.

Nothing ever worked out the way it was supposed to, so I shrugged it off, left him to his work, walking into the house and straight into what felt like a solid, brick wall.

"Oh!"

On instinct I uncrossed my arms, a pair of warm hands replacing my own. And instead of falling back, they pulled me forward, tightening their grip as they held me close.

His grunt was low and feral, rumbling deep between the bumping bones in our chests, his heart beating slow and steady against the top of my breast.

He felt nice; smelled nice too, I noticed, not that I was blatantly breathing him in, even though I totally was – blatantly; and possibly, with an audible sniff.

All soap and sawdust from a slab of freshly cut lumber.

All man.

Goose bumps flourished with a prickling wave, hardening my nipples. I prayed he couldn't feel them, as I looked up, my gaze stopping on the straight line of his mouth and the full, browned beard surrounding it.

I briefly wondered if he derived from the forest, bathed in baths of woodchips, as he grunted again, squeezing tight to help move me aside, before wordlessly making his way back outside and into the shine of the morning sun.

It took a shake of my head to get it working again, to make my feet walk me over to grab a warm bottle of water from the fridge, before going back out and plopping down on the stairs.

I watched as he stripped off his shirt, the shine of his burnished hair competing with the glistening sweat that quickly covered his skin; the way it moved over his muscle, catching the light of the sun to cast a blinding glare.

Occasionally glancing from side to side, I slyly kept him in my sight, admiring how he heaved and swung the pick-ax, flexing and relaxing the solid muscles in his back.

It was unfortunate when Alice pulled up, blocking the view with the boxed-out frame of her flashy, refurbished car.

I mean, it might have been something to look at, but he was prettier.

Much prettier.

So much prettier, in fact, that I forgot all about breakfast.

"Morning, friend," she greeted sweetly, following it up with a nice slam of her door. "See something you like?"

Her smile wide, she acted all knowing and I averted my eyes, squinting past her at the car.

"Yeah, what is that, a fifty-nine?"

Pulling off her cat-eyed glasses, she rolled hers, plopping down right beside me on the top step.

The nerve.

"He's a total shit, just so you know."

Keeping silent, I leaned back on my elbows to soak up the sun, trying not to think about how the total shits were usually the best lays.

"You'd have much better luck with Peter, over there." She pointed to the blonde that looked exactly like Jasper, except with shorter hair; describing him as _dependable, _and _an all-American man_ – whatever that meant.

I wasn't all that impressed.

"He's Jasper's cousin, and really sweet. You should let me hook you two up!" She excitedly shouted, bouncing in her seat, getting a little too loud and way ahead of herself. "We could all hang out together, and go on double-dates, it would be so much fun!"

Raising a hand, I shot that shit down, "Uh, no," giving her a pointed look, before leaning back against the porch. "Thanks for the thought, but I don't date."

Didn't want to.

Didn't need to.

I just didn't.

Ever.

Never again.

Sighing, she faced forward, sliding her glasses back over her narrowed, green eyes; a small pout pulling on her lips.

I smiled.

"Fine, but just stay away from that one," she warned, pointing towards the burly, bearded grunter; his head titled back, rippled muscles stretching as he drank from a bottle of water.

"He doesn't date either."

* * *

So, whadya think?!

Next update Friday or a few days after.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	3. Oh right, I was in hell

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Beta'd by SunflowerFran3759.

Mistakes are my own.

* * *

**Oh that's right, I'm in hell.**

By the next morning, I was caked in invisible dirt, sticky with the draft from a cracked, bedroom window.

Crawling off the bed, I clumsily made my way into the bathroom, making the mistake of looking in the mirror, before reaching for the rusted, faucet handle.

And that's when I remembered.

I was in hell.

I was stuck in hell with no running water, still sporting two days worth of crusty mascara, which had spread and smudged, staining my cheeks.

_Hell._

Turning right around, I ran from my honest reflection and straight for the bedroom, hopping over the tripping toe destroyer.

_Ha!_

_Not this time, floorboard._

Grabbing a change of clothes, I ran back into the kitchen, jotting down a note for Jasper and throwing it on the foyer floor, before hauling ass out to my car.

It was a rental, so no worries whether or not it would be working. Not like that piece of shit Metro, I traded in for parts a few days back.

Fuck that thing.

Left me stranded more than once on the side of the road.

And I think it went without saying, you didn't want to be stranded on the side of the road.

For the simple fact that it sucked.

Throwing my bag in the passenger's seat, I jumped in after it, starting the car and cranking up the a/c.

_Aw, a/c..._

I basked in the filtered flow of cool air, backing up and turning around just as soon as the boys were pulling in.

Thanking God I just missed them, I waved to Jasper, not bothering to stop, not wanting to chance anyone seeing how much of a mess I could actually be; especially _him_ – the bearded hunk of mountain man.

And I didn't like it.

This feeling.

It was new to me; actually caring about what a guy thought. And it was incredibly unnerving - incredibly; that I could still smell him, all stuck up in my stuffy nostrils.

End-of-summer campfires, that's what it was; a bright light in the dark, hissing and sizzling with a pop of pyrotechnic perfection. Thick and intoxicating - suffocation by musky smoke and pine needles.

That's what it was.

Sweet suffocation.

Turning down the graveled path, it was bumpier than I remembered, more narrow too. And there was no place to go when the monster of a Ford truck came barreling towards me, stirring up dirt in it's haste.

My stomach dropped when I realized who it was, and that he wasn't stopping.

Jerking over to the side of the path, I came to a complete stop, watching as he turned off-road, just barely making it around me; his tinted eyes glued to mine the entire time.

A twinge of excitement ran up my spine, flipping my stomach and warming my chest. And I just sat there, breathing, beating - everywhere; watching as he got smaller and smaller, disappearing all together from my rearview mirror.

.

.

Alice's house was, well, Alice; clean and crisp with a white, picket fence that popped with a background of red Calla Lilies and canary-yellow paint.

Looking over at the pink Cadillac sitting in the drive, I wondered, but didn't have the balls to ask if she was colorblind.

"Come on in, Bella." She motioned, placing her hand against my back to lead me down a picture filled hallway. "Hope you found the place okay." Nodding, I turned into the spacious kitchen, not expecting the tall blonde. "Great, now, could you please tell Rose that the color scheme of my house does not resemble that of McDonald's."

Pouring a fresh cup of coffee, the woman I gathered was Rose, handed it to me. "It does, too. Bella, tell her it does, too."

Taking the cup, I placed it against my mouth, feigning thirst while they argued back and forth; bickering about what fast food chain had the most flattering color palette for what Alice was going for - which was retro.

_Chick-fil-A maybe_, I thought, but didn't say out loud, still too new to the group and all.

Besides, Rose was right, Checker's was best.

I mean, it was checkers.

And what was more retro than checkers?

"It's retro, Rose, and retro is in. Tell her, Bella," she ordered, as I finished off my first cup, taking a second from a glaring Rose.

"Retro is in?" I kind of agreed with a shrug, not wanting to be on either one of their bad sides; Alice having possession of the warm, running water. And I was pretty sure Rose wouldn't hesitate to cut me.

"See, Rose?" Alice smiled, twisting from side to side in her Neon-green, hot pants, before poking Rose on the tip of her perfect nose. "Retro is in."

Swatting her hand away, Rose rolled her eyes, while I sat down my drink, excusing myself to the bathroom.

_Down the hall and to the left _seemed like easy enough directions, so I took my time, looking over the pictures hanging in the hallway.

Most were of Alice and Jasper, some black and white, some with them dressed in all black and white; red and green for Christmas, dusty-pink and sky-blue for Easter.

_Jesus._

The torture she put that poor man through.

But he was smiling in all of them; really smiling. And that had to count for something, right?

A little further up the hall, the pictures started to change; them with who I assumed were their two sets of parents, friends and other family members.

I stopped when my eyes grazed across _him; s_traight-laced and clean shaven. The army green made his pine-painted eyes pop.

Brows furrowed, my heart fluttered, stomach flipped.

He looked handsome in that cap.

"My brother, Edward."

I jumped when Alice spoke, coming out of nowhere.

"You wouldn't know it now, though, he's so different from when that picture was taken."

"Yeah, he wasn't such a bitter asshole back then," Rose added, joining us in the hallway to stare at the boy in green.

That's exactly what he looked like, a boy.

"What happened," I asked, twisting at the waist to face the two of them, "if you don't mind me asking?"

Opening her mouth, Rose took a pointy elbow to the ribs.

"Ow, goddammit!" Rose cried, shoving Alice by the shoulder. "That shit hurt!"

I waited while they silently communicated with forced facial expressions and threatening stares.

And I almost regretted asking, when Alice finally sighed, turning to face me. "Two tours in Iraq, but the rest he'd have to tell you," she explained, looking back over at Rose. "That's not really for us to say."

While the two battled it out in a glare-off, I turned back to the photo, wondering what his story was.

What had he seen?

What had he been through?

God only knew.

And well, obviously Alice and Rose.

"Well, if nothing else, he needs to trim that beard," Rose complained, and Alice was quick to agree.

"Oh, I know. I mean, I'm all for a little bit of scruff, but when a man gives up and goes all Duck Dynasty…" She shook her head in disgust. "That's a problem."

Still staring at the green eyes popping out from the picture, I rolled mine.

It was nowhere near that bad.

Yet.

And regardless, I didn't see what the problem was.

Real men had beards.

Full ones.

"I don't know, I kinda like it," I announced, shrugging it off when both women scoffed at me.

I didn't care.

In fact, I whole-heartily disagreed.

* * *

Leave me your thoughts. I love your thoughts.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	4. What was it with these people?

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Beta'd by SunflowerFran3759.

Mistakes are my own.

* * *

Early update!

* * *

**What was it with these people?**

Growing up I didn't have a lot of girlfriends.

Splashing around in mud puddles, and digging in the dirt, they were more of a boy thing, so I hung out with them instead; picking on all the _prissy-pants Pollys_, and playing pick-up in the middle of the road.

The first night of summer was always the greatest, though; how the temperature dropped just right, letting lukewarm wind whip, and blow right by you, easing the burn on your cheeks, and cooling the sweat in your soaked-through hair. The smell of freshly cut grass forever lingered, tickling the inside of your nose.

That first night.

It was magical how you felt it, like really felt it; the stirring that stemmed from deep inside your bones, bubbling-up and out of the pores onto the surface of your skin; how it tingled the roots of those tiny, baby hairs and made them stand on end. And you couldn't help but laugh out loud, and smile too-wide, not regretting it until you woke up the next morning, your throat sore and dry, and the sting of a superficial sunburn finally setting in.

My block had this tradition, where all the neighbors would gather; hauling out tables and never-enough lawn chairs, to set them up on the streets as soon as the sun went down. There was good food and there were good friends, and the far-off playing of muted, mellow music. _The good stuff_, my dad used to call it, standing me on his feet, swaying and stepping from side to side. And we danced like that until the first of the fireworks shot out, lighting the night sky in gold and then green and then ruby-slipper red. And I watched in amazement, while all the other little girls held their hands over their ears, crying that it was too loud, that they just didn't like it, and that they wanted to go home.

Rose and Alice reminded me a lot of those girls, sitting around the centered, kitchen counter, comparing the quality of acrylic on their manicured nails. And while I didn't necessarily want to go play in the dirt, I wouldn't have minded taking the mind-numbing conversation outside. At least then I could breathe, maybe stare up into the blinding surface of the sun – it would have been less painful.

"What do you think, Bella?"

"Hmm?"

Removing my chin from the supporting palm of my hand, I leaned back to look up at Alice.

"Tomorrow…" she paused, probably making sure I was still listening.

"What about it?" I asked.

She sighed.

"We were thinking we'd go get manis and pedis, you in?"

Both Rose and Alice stared at me while I sat there, silently staring back at them; contemplating, trying to think of a nice way to tell them that I'd rather shove toothpicks under my nails than go out and get them done.

It wasn't that I didn't like them.

I liked them fine; never gave me a reason not to.

Yet.

I just liked being alone. I liked not talking. I liked not listening to the drivel in other's day to day lives.

An afternoon with these two and I already knew all about Mrs. Martin, Alice's next door neighbor. She had this house full of cats, which drove Alice nuts; how she'd let _her babies_ run loose, leaving dirty, paw prints all over Alice's car. But she never said anything, because Mrs. Martin, _the poor thing,_ had a serious heart condition and she didn't want to kill her.

Rose on the other hand, had a much more serious problem. Her neighbor ran a dog mill, specializing in breeding hounds, and she hadn't gotten a full night's sleep since last September. And even though she prided herself on being a kind, patient, avid dog lover, she swore that if one more of those noisy bastards got loose and left another shit in her perennials, she was calling the Humane Society and having them shut down.

And it went on like this for hours.

Jessica was cheating on Mike with Tyler down the block. Tyler was cheating on Jessica _and _his wife Angela with Lauren, the barely-legal babysitter.

The mail man delivered the wrong mail again and really needed to retire.

Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah…

Looking up at the clock, I noticed the late hour, as the backdoor swung open and Jasper stepped in.

Gathering the bag at my feet, I quickly stood.

This was my out.

"Well, I think I'm gonna go. It's getting pretty late and I don't want to intrude."

_Or listen to anymore of your shit._

Scoffing, Alice looked back at Jasper and he waved me off. "Nonsense, you're welcome to stay."

Alice nodded. "Yeah stay, we got a spare room all set up and everything. I dusted just yesterday, just for you, just in case."

Huffing, I smiled in amusement or maybe it was surprise; probably both, needlessly pulling at the hem on the back of my shirt.

_What was it with these people? _

"Uh no, I'm good, but thanks," I shyly declined, hiking my bag up and over my shoulder, blowing right by Jasper with a wave and a _see ya later_, before shutting the door behind me.

The air had cooled enough to calm the raging fire burning deep in my cheeks. And I took a deep breath, walking passed Alice's moon-lit car, hissing it out at one of Mrs. Martin's loose cats.

.

.

The drive back was a soothing one, with the windows rolled down and the wind in my hair. The air smelled strongly of tangerine and honeysuckle; still fresh and sweet from the previous night's rain.

And I was pleasantly surprised when I automatically pulled into the hidden drive, no question as to which moss-covered tree was mine.

I just knew.

I _just _knew.

Following the path, I noticed there was something different about it. Not sure what, until I pulled up to find an illuminated house.

Electricity.

That's what was different.

I could see.

With the bright light shining out of the drape-less windows, I could see everything; everything except for the midnight blue, Ford pick up parked somewhere in the shadows.

And you could bet if I did, I would have turned tail and ran straight back to Alice's; threat of mind-numbing gossip or not.

Stopping with a jolt, I shifted into park, and jumped out of the car to race up the stairs; not even considering why they would have left the lights on in the first place. All I cared about was the fact that I had them, as I barreled through the door, coming to an abrupt stop just inside the foyer.

Sudden warmth filled my chest, filtering up and into my cheeks.

For the love…

There on a ladder in the middle of the room, stood Edward, arms raised above his head. His torn, black tee was riding up, showcasing the waist of his low-hanging Wrangler's; so low, that I could see the gray strap of his underwear and the patch of burnished hair that disappeared just beneath it.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, trying to rationalize just sneaking back out and quietly closing the door.

_Maybe he didn't see me?_

Plausible.

He _was_ looking up, after all.

_Maybe he didn't hear me stomping my way up the squeaky, front porch steps?_

Unlikely.

That spastic display sounded louder than a herd of elephants.

_Maybe my heart wasn't pounding so hard and so fast, that he could feel it beating; pulsating through the fibers of the sensitive floorboards, up the perched metal and into the souls of his scuffed-up, brown, work boots?_

Impossible.

But just thinking about it had my blood pumping double-time.

_That _was_ impossible, right?_

"Last one," I jumped with the sound of his voice; rough and uneven while he worked. Setting down one tool, he picked up another, raising his arms back up and over his head. "Then I'll be done."

Swallowing, I licked my lips, still focusing on the underside of his flexed arms, the sliver of bronzed skin peeking out from under fraying, black cotton.

"Uh yeah, no problem."

Stepping in further, I closed the door behind me.

Quick to walk passed him, I successfully made it into the kitchen without sneaking a backwards glance, and laid my head on the cool, tiled countertop.

Closing my eyes, I sighed; tried to relax; maybe fake them out for once.

Yeah, right…

My cheeks gave everything away; every little thought or feeling I so happened to have, and I hated it.

So I thought he was hot?

So I thought the beard was sexy?

So I wanted him to casually stroll in here, hold me down and fuck me in my current position?

So what?

Moving further down the counter, I switched to the other cheek, uselessly letting it cool the fire burning under my skin.

They'd still be red.

And they'd stay red until he was done and out of here and I could actually settle the fuck down.

Traders, the both of them.

It wasn't like he even wanted me.

It wasn't like he'd ever shown any interest at all. In fact, I was pretty sure he tried to kill me earlier, now that I thought about it.

What the hell was up with that fucked up game of chicken anyway?

What the hell was he thinking?

What the hell did I do to deserve such…anger and annoyance; such…hostility from him?

Taking another deep breath, I lifted my head.

I didn't know.

I didn't know anything about him, except that his eyes were green.

And maybe that was half of the allure; the other half being that coarse cluster of chaotic facial hair.

Grabbing a _cold_ bottle of water from the fridge, I smiled, never so appreciative of the difference a few degrees actually made.

Quickly downing it, I picked up another, walking it back out to the moody man currently re-wiring the ceiling light in my foyer.

It was the least I could do.

"Water?" I asked, holding out the bottle, my heart rate picking up again, as he took the three short steps and turned to face me.

Grabbing the bottle from my hand, his grunt seemed like thanks enough, as the calloused pads of his fingers just grazed the tops of mine.

Bringing the bottle to his mouth, he sucked the water down in three, large gulps, missing a drop that dripped from his lip, rolling to wet the edge of the hair just below it.

I must've looked like a freak standing there, staring up at him; mindlessly reaching out to wipe it away, before his hand shot up to stop me.

The move was as startling as his grip on my wrist; firm yet gentle. His thumb rested lightly over my telling pulse point.

I could feel it racing.

And if I could feel it racing, so could he; the skip-of-a-beat, racing, as he pulled me closer, bringing my hand to hover just below his bottom lip.

My insides ran cold, heating back up with the warmth of his breath, the steady rise and fall of his chest as it bumped against mine.

"You've got…" I pointed, reaching out a little further, "Just there…" barely feeling the dampened, coarse bristle, before he let go, and backed away.

Cheeks flaming, I lifted my gaze, realizing this was the first time I'd actually seen his eyes outside the black, eight-by-ten, picture frame hanging on Alice's wall.

And she was right.

They weren't the same.

Troubled and tortured, the shade had darkened; their shape narrowing with fury, and hatred. It rolled from him in waves, knocking me back as he stepped around me and stomped out, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

This is the last of the pre-written chaps. But the next one's half way done and...it's the one that really starts to heat this puppy up :D I'm hoping to finish and start the next by next Friday, but it could be a few days after, idk..

Anyways, to tide you over I'm going to rec you what I'm currently reading.

**Hooked Up and Locked Down**

**by**

**LayAtHomeMom**

Lay's words are hilarious, and sexy, especially the one's with the dropped r's in this brand-new fic of hers "Hooked Up and Locked Down" She's introducing Bostonwahd! - yes, that was on purpose. ;) And I love it. I love everything about it. I love it like a shirtless Matt Damon all vulnerable and angry, yelling while that gleaming gold cross bumps against the bare skin of his chest...

*picks up and fans self with a nearby Us Weekly*

Think _Good _Will Hunting...Irresistible David McCall, ladies and gents.

**Dirty South Drug Wars**

**by**

**Hoodfabulous **

who is, in fact, fabulous!

The first word in the title says it all, my friends - Dirty. Dirty South. Dirty Doings. Down in the dirty dirty. Hood gripped me from the first sentence and hasn't let go yet. Her incredible talent for description really sets the scene, and it's impossible not to get swept up in this Dirty South tale of two star-crossed lovers.

And that Edward... *sighs* He's one sweet, smooth talker...

**Blind Spot**

**by **

**FictionFreak95**

'In the small town of Madisonville, LA, Bella Swan has spent her entire life seeing things before they happen. Until Him.' ... until him. And let me tell you about him.

*loosens collar and fans self*

Wooo, lawd.. Him has already had me fainting. Him has already had me flailing.

And I'm pretty sure Jo is on a one woman mission to kill me ded

DED

And if you read, which you should, don't forget to review. Reviews are like you writing your own stories for us. And we LOVE them!


	5. I couldn't believe this was happening

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Beta'd by SunflowerFran3759.

Mistakes are my own.

* * *

**I couldn't believe this was happening.**

Uley's Market was a tiny place, set in the center of the small, surrounding town. And the only grocery store for forty miles.

Yes, forty.

They had exactly five shopping carts, but one was currently out of commission, so I guess that actually made it four. _"And watch out for the one with the bum wheel," _Alice had warned. "_You think you got it, and then before you know it, you're crashing into the toilet paper tee-pee." _She turned to me seriously. "A_nd you don't want to crash into the tee-pee, Bella."_ She shook her head. _"Toilet paper," _she said, waving a hand in a circular motion towards her brand new, black and white, checkered floor, _"everywhere."_

Stepping inside the single, sliding door, I noted two carts sitting just inside.

It was a toss-up.

A fifty-fifty chance, for sure.

The other two had most likely been carefully chosen and tested before being used. Having been forewarned by Alice, and being the only new person in town, I was fairly certain that everyone else was well aware of the catastrophic consequences that stemmed from choosing the wrong cart.

Now, I wasn't so hard up for a perfectly functioning cart that I would sink to getting down on my hands and knees, and inspect for any obvious defects, no.

But I did check them.

Looking from side to side, I made sure no one was watching, as I rocked them back and forth; neither snagging or pulling; both sets of wheels seemingly symmetrical. So, I didn't worry myself too much when I finally picked one, placed my purse in the upper basket, and pushed on.

First stop was the fruits and veggies section, which was purely out of habit, and for the simple fact that it was there. It was big and it was open and I had no idea where anything else was.

And besides, it felt familiar.

Coming from a small family of meat-eaters – just me and my dad – I didn't usually buy fruit, but I grabbed a bunch of bananas anyway, perfectly content with knowing they would just end up sitting on the kitchen counter, rotting black and mushy, before I finally threw them out.

Passing the veggies all together, I slowly made my way down each of the aisles, which were all unusually labeled by the five, major food groups.

_Weird, _I thought.

Though come to think of it, what, or should I say _who, _wasn't in this strange, little, back-woods, build-a-girl-up-just-to-knock-her-back-down, sort of town.

I shivered as I entered _'Grains'_, the bristle of his burnished facial hair still lingering on my tingling fingertips.

There was a pair of soft lips surrounded by all that coarseness, I knew it. And I wanted to feel them. I wanted to feel them everywhere.

Grabbing a loaf of wheat bread, I moved to the next aisle, feeling that unsettling stir sink inside my stomach, that heat creep back into the apples of my cheeks.

His eyes were so intense, his grasp so soft, yet demanding. He was completely in control. And I briefly wandered what real damage that kind of strength could do.

I also wanted to know, and kind of hated myself for it.

Why did a man not wanting you, make you want him all that much more?

By the time I made it to the frozen foods section, the center of my panties was a shameful, pooling mess. I swear you could've gone swimming.

I'd barely thought about anything other than his eyes, and that stare, how it held me, even stronger than the rough pads of his wrapped fingers.

I'd also barely filled the bottom of my shopping cart; the case of ramen noodles taking up most of that space.

Either this store had the shittest of shitty selections, or I was being a major food snob … Or, I just wasn't hungry; not for food anyway.

Reaching the first case, I grabbed two handfuls of chicken pot pie, because I loved that shit.

Moving to the next, I shoveled in the Stouffers, followed by the Healthy Choice and then finally some _un_-healthy choice - Chinese.

This was my bag.

Quick food with little work was what I did best.

And why not?

I mean, what was the point in cooking for one anyway?

Waste of time, if you asked me.

Passing the tempting garlic bread, I turned out of the last aisle and headed for the dairy section. All that was left on the list was milk and butter.

_Oh, the things you could do with butter_, I thought, remembering something I'd recently read, cooling the flush of my cheeks by sticking my head inside the door of the milk fridge.

I was checking the expiration date on a gallon of one percent when I heard them.

"The boys will only drink Bud, Rose, you know this."

I could almost feel the effects of Rose's penetrating glare. I swear, that woman's evil eye could rival Cyclops' any day.

"Now, sit that fancy shit down."

Throwing the milk in the cart, I grabbed the closest tub of butter, swiftly making my way to the front of the store.

I wasn't in the mood to see them, let alone hear them.

I'd been ignoring Alice's phone calls all day, completely embarrassed by whatever the hell happened between me and her brother the night before.

There was no way she could have known, no way.

But I would.

I did know.

_God._

Just the thought was utterly humiliating, and as I passed the infamous, toilet paper tee-pee, the dreaded, 'bum' wheel decided to show its face, swiveling and swerving, crashing right into the piled-up Angel Soft.

I looked on in horror as the ethereal, ass wipers flew in every direction, a few conveniently falling into my cart.

That was the one thing I forgot.

Toilet paper.

Gathering as many packages as I could, I threw them on top of the remaining pile, kicking a few out of the way.

I couldn't believe this was happening.

No wait.

Yes.

Yes, I could.

This was exactly the kind of shit that always happened to me. And if I was smart, I would have just left it.

"Bella?"

But as it turns out, I'd barely graduated high school.

"Bella, what did I tell you?" Alice scolded, failing to hold back her loud laughter.

I just shrugged, dropping the last of the scattered rolls on top of the pile.

"This is just too funny and absolutely perfect," she squealed, shaking Rose by the shoulder. "It's … it's…" she stuttered, no doubt at a loss for words, once again.

She forgot them a lot.

"What is it, what is the word?" She asked, gesturing with a hand. "You know, when something's meant to be, it's… it's…"

"Fate?" I guessed out loud, and she snapped those fingers, pointing a manicured nail right in my face.

"Yes! Fate, thank you!" She shook Rose again. "It's fate!"

Rolling her eyes, Rose slapped her hand away. "What she means is, she's been trying to call you all day," Rose clarified, leaning against the handle of the cart, her questioning brow reaching its highest arch, "so, where the hell have you been?"

It wasn't meant to be menacing, but it was, nonetheless.

Rose couldn't see or hear herself so clearly, that was for sure.

"I was doing housework," which wasn't a lie.

Waking up at the butt-crack of dawn, I had shuffled through the toolbox Edward left behind, finding a metal scraper, and began shaving off bits of stubborn wallpaper for the better half of the morning; had the blisters to prove it, too.

"I also had my phone turned off."

Now, _that_ was a lie.

I'd heard every, last, shrill ring.

And I think Rose knew it.

"Oh, well, that's okay," Alice assured, waving me off. "You're here now, and I … well, _we _…" she gestured between her and Rose, "can invite you to the cookout tonight." With a toothy grin she pointed back at Rose. "We're having it at Rose's place. She's got more space," she explained, measuring with a span of her arms, and tilting her head to the side. "So you'll come, right?"

Taking one, last look at Rose's raised brow, I nodded in affirmation, "Sure," a tight grin pulling on my mouth and tightening my cheeks.

"Why not?"

.

.

The sun set later on the west coast, leaving it light and warm on those nice, summer nights. And I was thankful for the lingering heat when Alice threw the clothes I had packed into the shower with me, insisting I was better off.

_"I have the perfect, patio-party outfit set out in the guest room, just come in there when you're done," _she said. But what she really meant was, when I recovered from the shock.

Not only did she have the gumption to barge into the bathroom with me while I was all soaped up and oh-so naked, but she complimented me on my recent shave, _"nice landing strip," _before finally shutting the shower door.

Walking the stone path to Rose's backyard, I still couldn't believe it had happened.

"Ooh, Bella, you look nice!" Rose uncharacteristically complimented, lightly pushing Alice by the shoulder. "I knew you would run back and buy that thing, you sneaky bitch. I told you she'd look good in it."

Looking down at the spaghetti-strapped, white, flowing fabric, my eyes snapped back up to Alice.

"You bought this for me?"

She eyed Rose, while they once again silently communicated with loaded stares, before Alice broke them off, slapping Rose on the arm with the back of her hand.

"What the hell is he doing here?" She hissed, not-so-sneakily looking over Rose's bare shoulder.

I followed her gaze, looking passed the sea of mingling strangers and found those dark, green eyes; those lips wrapped around the end of a long-neck bottle of Bud.

My cheeks heated under his unwavering stare, and I slumped back to hide behind Rose.

"I don't know, Alice, he just showed up, grabbed a bottle and planted himself on the tree hugger." Shrugging, she acted like it was no big thing, which it wasn't.

Only that it was.

"But he never comes to these things," Alice fumed, briefly looking from him to me and then back to him, before grabbing my wrist and pulling me into the crowd.

She introduced me to everyone we passed; Mike who was married to Jessica, who was cheating on him with Tyler. And then there was Tyler and Tyler's wife, Angela; a sweet, albeit mousy, little thing that didn't deserve to be done the way that she was. Mrs. Martin, Lauren and the elderly mailman weren't invited. And the Parkers were un-wantingly welcomed, laughing as loud as their noisy hounds howled.

I felt his eyes on me the whole time, the hum going straight to the space between my legs, leaving the ruined, wet cotton cool; the unsettling effect only heightened with every, brisk blow of the wind.

I wanted to look over, but was afraid at what I might find. That smoldering hatred was pretty hard to bear. I already felt nearly naked and exposed in this poor excuse for a dress; the skirt hem cut up to there, barely reaching mid-thigh. And it wasn't until Alice found her husband standing at the far side of the large patio, shooting the shit with his nearly-identical cousin, that I realized why I was wearing this dress, and what she was trying to do.

"Hey, baby," she greeted Jasper, kissing him sweetly on the cheek, before turning back to me. "Bella, this is Peter, Jasper and Rose's cousin. Peter, this is Bella, the one I was telling you about," she added, not-so-subtly speaking out of the side of her mouth. Then tilting her head, she encouraged Peter to step closer, where he held out his hand.

It was soft and sweaty, nothing like the one I wanted touching me.

Nothing like his.

"So, uh, what brings you to Forks, Bella? Can I call you Bella?"

I was caught off guard by the confusing question.

_What the fuck else was he going to call me?_

"Uh…yeah," I stuttered, my smile growing tight as I pulled my hand from his, "it's my name."

Grinning, he nodded, throwing his head back to take a sip of his beer, and I wiped my palm on the soft cotton of my dress.

_Uck._

Briefly eyeing Alice, I did a little silent conversing myself, before turning my attention back to the blonde.

The following conversation was as dull as his cookie-cutter looks; globs of hair gel, a pink, Izod polo-shirt and I shit you not, a pair of wicker shoes.

I stifled a yawn, while he yammered on about type-k, copper piping and the latest episode of Game of Thrones, letting my glazed-over gaze wander, finding those green eyes again.

They never left mine as he raised the brown bottle to his lips, tilting his head back to take a nice, long swig of his beer; the bob of his Adam's apple hidden somewhere under the bulk of that beard.

His unrelenting gaze made my head swim, made my insides flutter in familiar ways, sending another rush of heat to warm the lowest pit of my stomach.

I squirmed under his scrutiny, wondering how long it was going to take him to give in or give up, just blink for Christ sake, when I felt a tug on my shoulder.

"So, whatta ya, you wanna go?" Peter's voice sounded fuzzy, faded by the hypnotic hold of another man's stare.

Blinking, I was the first to relent, looking down to find Peter playing with my flimsy, spaghetti strap.

"I'm sorry, what?"

He huffed out a laugh.

"That new restaurant I was just telling you about, the one in Port Ang…" he paused, taking a step closer, pushing my hair behind my shoulder to run a finger down the side of my neck. "Would you wanna go … with me?"

Taking a step back, I touched the skin that he'd just touched, resisting the urge to wipe it away, as I looked over to find Edward, still sitting there, watching the intimate exchange – no expression on his face.

Never a goddamn expression on his face.

A sudden sensation filled my chest, taking hold and squeezing, slowing the throbbing pound of my heart. I could hear it in my ears, drowning out the music, the laughter, Peter calling my name as I turned and twisted, maneuvering my way through the crowd.

Wrenching the sliding, back door open, I pulled it closed behind me, not wanting anyone to follow me, trying to contain as much as I could of this cool, conditioned air. It felt good on my sweaty skin and I wiped at the crawling portion that Peter touched without invitation. I mean, I didn't even give the guy an opening, not one signal that I was remotely interested. Hell, I was even staring at another man half the time he was talking.

I shook my head.

_Men._

The bathroom was easy to find, being the only one with a toilet. And I locked myself inside, sitting down on the cold porcelain.

I didn't know how long I was in there, just sitting and staring at the white straps wrapped across the tops of my feet, before I finally decided to get up and splash a dash of water on face. Checking myself in the mirror, I dabbed it dry, placed a hand on the knob and opened the door.

The hallway was dark, and I could hardly see, silently startling when a rough hand wrapped around my wrist, pulled me out and pushed me up against the wall; the moonlight hitting us both at mid-thigh.

We stood there for a long moment just audibly breathing; my breaths coming out so much faster than his, when I felt his hand brush my hair back, his finger dip under the strap of my dress, pulling it off my shoulder. He was soft and tender as he lowered his head, the bristle of his beard just scratching my skin. I got the distinct feeling that he was marking me, staking claim on the territory that Peter had already touched.

My heart swelled with the change in his breath, rough and ragged against the hollow of my neck, as his hand continued to wander, sliding down to cup the side of my breast. Pushing my chest out towards him, I encouraged with a quiet moan, sucking in the stifling air when he squeezed, swiping his thumb across the hardened nipple.

Lost in the moment, I brought my hand up to touch the thick hair hiding what I knew to be the angle of a sharp jaw, realizing my mistake when he pulled away.

"I'm sorry," I whispered anxiously, stupidly reaching out for him again, not wanting him to stop; fully expecting him to back away and take off like he did the night before.

But he didn't.

He didn't.

Grabbing my wrist, he lifted it above my head, holding it firm against the wall, while his other continued to wander the length of my waist, just brushing the flowing fabric.

I wanted to touch him.

God, did I want to touch him, as he lazily thumbed the bone of my hip, and slid the back of his hand lightly over my center to skim the skin of my inner thigh.

Lifting the hem of my dress, he softly cupped me, running all five fingers up the moist fabric, and dipping them under the waistband of my panties. I automatically spread for him, moaning as he seamlessly slid two fingers inside me, all the while utterly horrified of how wet I already was.

A pair of headlights shined through the window, showing a flash of green and a heavily furrowed brow, as he worked me over, pressing the palm of his hand hard against my clit.

I was in sensory overload; perfectly aware that we were out in the open where anyone could walk in and see us; that the fingers of a man I'd hardly spoken five words to, were currently buried deep inside me – the sopping wet sound filling the otherwise silent hallway.

Throwing my head back, I hit it against the wall as my mouth fell open; the ache growing more and more unbearable as I placed my free hand over his, following every pump, feeling every muscle flex with the quickened bend of his wrist and blunt force of his coaxing fingers.

Another flash of light and I was coming, quivering and still clenching around the stilled digits when he pulled them out, holding them up to glisten in the passing headlights, before placing them in his mouth.

What he couldn't finish was wiped on the leg of his jeans, as Alice entered the hallway and he turned to leave, brushing right by her and out the sliding, back doors; both acting as if the other wasn't even there.

"Peter's been looking for you," she started, stepping closer, eyeing the rumpled fabric and then the strap hanging off my shoulder. "I think he's leaving; wants to say goodbye."

We were quiet for a beat, me still leaning against the wall when I finally nodded, pulled up my strap and subtly straightened the skirt of my dress, following her out into the now dark, chilly night.

* * *

*coughs* so, yeah. Any thoughts, feelings?

Thanks for reading and reviewing! I love you all and your words!


	6. That was what hurt the most

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Beta'd by SunflowerFran3759.

Mistakes are my own.

* * *

**That was what hurt the most**

My arms were burning, my breath coming out in short, shallow pants, as I scraped the faded, floral nightmare from the living room wall.

Pieces of Pentas and Posies and pretty, pink Peonies fell all around me, floating and flittering with the breeze flowing through the open windows, tickling my pointed, bare feet.

I hated wallpaper.

I hated wallpaper so much that I hated it more than carpet.

And I _hated_ carpet.

It was the one thing I loved about this house, that there was no carpet.

But there sure as shit was enough wallpaper.

It was on every, goddamn surface of every goddamn wall, old and gummy; a real bitch to get off.

Stepping away, I took quick sweat-swipe break, before going right back to town on a particularly stubborn spot.

_Come on, you Gorilla-Glued piece of shit._

_Come off!_

I had a little extra cash from the life insurance, enough to pay Jasper and his crew to do it. But I could just hear my father now, his disapproving words floating through my head.

_Never pawn off or pay for what you can do yourself, Bell. You've got to take pride in it, kid; pride in what's yours and yours alone._

Dropping my aching arm, I let it dangle at my side, squeezing the plastic end of the metal scraper. My eyes burned with memories of him and I sucked in a deep breath, coughing out the particles of paper hanging in the air.

Some days I wished more than anything that he was here to help, even if I knew he'd only end up annoying the shit out of me in the end.

There wasn't anything he couldn't do, my dad; not a faucet he couldn't fix, not a roof he couldn't patch. He never once asked for help, seldom called in for backup, not even when he truly needed it.

Maybe if he hadn't been so proud, he'd still be alive today.

The thought brought the blade back up to the paper, making me scrape harder, work faster. Being my father's daughter, I was just like him; proud; raised to depend on myself and myself alone. A real lesson, one not entirely learned until the day he died.

Charlie wasn't just a cop; he was a mechanic, an electrician, a plumber, and a painter, a real do-it-yourself kind of man – my dad.

He taught me what I would listen to, which wasn't much, because even though I preferred to spend my time horsing around with the neighborhood boys, I was still a girl. I was a kid, and I wanted to play, not map out the inner workings underneath the hood of a car.

However, I did remember how to check my oil.

The older I got the more I wished I'd listened, taken notes, recorded the deep croon of his nurturing voice, something … anything.

I wished I knew then what I know now, because _now … _Now I felt more dependent than ever.

The click of the latch had me stopping and spinning around, flat, metal weapon at the ready in my hand.

My stomach flipped when I saw him, my grip loosening as he stepped in, softly closing the door.

He hadn't showered, I assumed, from his rumbled, rough look. He was wearing the same clothes, the same flat expression on what I could see of his downturned face.

I briefly glanced at the fingers on his right hand, my heart hammering against my chest, as a rush of heat flooded my knowing core.

It knew.

It knew what those fingers could do, what they _had_ done and it wanted more.

_I_ wanted more.

Passing by me, he didn't look up as his shoulder grazed mine, going directly for his forgotten toolbox, before disappearing through the entrance to the kitchen.

I wanted to follow him.

I wanted to follow him and ask what he was doing, here, in my house, and on a Sunday, no less.

I wanted to touch him, for him to let me, to want me to.

I wanted to make him feel how he made me feel, winded and hazy, turned inside out, upside down and then right side up.

Spinning.

Spinning.

Spinning.

Dizzy.

I wanted to make him feel good, to drop to my knees and show him how I could.

I wanted to taste him, just like he had tasted me.

But, I didn't.

Placing the metal back against the wall, I continued to scrape, listening to him clink and clank, stomp around the chipped, yellowing linoleum, wondering what it was he was fixing. By the sound of it, it was the kitchen sink, his low grunts muffled by the depth of the lower cabinet and the piercing screech of loosening old, rusted metal.

A sense of calm washed over me, as a faint hum took over the silence, jumping with the occasional ruckus sounding from the kitchen, smiling with every, muttered curse that casually flew out of his mouth.

I liked hearing his voice, gruff and flustered; his colorful vocabulary ranging from _shit, goddamn, _and my personal favorite, _fuck._

At least, it was something.

The longer we worked, the more comfortable I became, finding myself almost content with having him near.

He made me feel safe, all the while scaring the ever-loving shit out of me, holding this power over my mind and body, both turning to mush with a simple look, a tender touch, hell, just the thought of him sent me into a thoughtless tizzy.

It made me wishful.

Willing.

Weak.

Speaking of weak, I dropped my arm to my side, my face falling at what little I'd accomplished in such a long amount of time.

This was bullshit.

Complete and utter bullshit, I deciphered, throwing the scraper down to take it out on the wooden floor, as a concerning crash came from inside the kitchen.

"Edward?" I called out uselessly, not surprised _not_ to hear anything in return. But I worried about it, nonetheless, stepping over the sticky sheets of wallpaper, not caring that it stuck to the bottom of my bare feet.

"Edward?" I called out again, rounding the entrance and stepping into the kitchen, only to find him hovering over the sink, clutching his bleeding hand.

"Oh shit, Edward!" Quickly making my way over to where he stood, I opened one of the top drawers, pulling out a dish rag.

"Here, let me see," I told him, not waiting for him to offer it up freely, just grabbing his wrist, and pulling it towards me to hold pressure on the oozing wound.

It only took a moment to realize he wasn't pulling away, and I was suddenly very aware of him, his proximity.

Lifting my gaze slightly, I was eye level with his chest, watching it steadily rise and fall.

Warm and musky, he smelled of last night's campfire, with its smothering, hickory smoke. And a little bit like sweat; a good sweat.

A _really_ good sweat.

I could feel his eyes on me, boring into the top of my bowed head, as I opened my mouth only to close it again.

This was usually the opportunity one took to look up and smile, make small talk. That's what people did when pushed up against one another, nothing much else to do or look at while in this awkward position.

Only it wasn't awkward.

Not at all.

... a little unnerving, maybe ...

Okay, a lot unnerving.

And I found it utterly ridiculous that I could let this man touch me in the most intimate of ways; that I could caringly tend to his wound, but couldn't even work up the courage to simply ask him how his day had been.

Lifting the towel, I made sure it had stopped bleeding before grabbing a lukewarm bottle of water from my stash under the kitchen counter, opening it and pouring it over his blood stained hand.

He was lucky I was a cop's daughter and always had at least three first aid kits on hand at all times; one in the drawer I was currently opening, one in the bathroom, and one in the basement, which was actually a cellar that you could only get to from the outside.

I hadn't gone down there yet and dreaded the day that I would. But you could bet your ass that third first aid kit would be going down with me.

Pulling the kit from the drawer, I set it on the counter, opening it up and picking out the antiseptic, antibacterial ointment, some cotton balls, gauze and tape.

I doused a clean rag in the warm water, wiping away the excess blood, before throwing it in the sink, removing the lid from the antiseptic, and holding the cool, plastic bottle in my hand.

As I stepped closer, my hip brushed up against his, my insides heating with the sudden prickling of my skin, as the rough pads of his fingers rested limply on my bare thigh.

"This is gonna sting," I warned, glancing up into the forest green of his eyes, as his thumb swept once under the bottom of my cutoffs, silently telling me it was okay.

The heat from his palm was distracting, as it slowly crept up and under the frayed hem of my shorts, his wandering thumb coming dangerously close to the edge of my panties. And I momentarily hesitated, watching him watch me, letting him touch and comfort himself with his exploration of my tingling skin, before finally looking away and squirting the cruel, cold medicine on the open gash.

To his credit, he didn't even flinch, not that I had expected him to, only tightening his firm grip on my thigh.

I should've felt guilty for enjoying it, this vulnerability he was showing with just one, simple squeeze.

I should've been ashamed of the way my body reacted, how my heart raced and my breathing sped.

The warmth running through my thrilled veins settled in the deepest pit of my stomach, my panties dampening in excitement and anticipation. His fingers were already so close to where I wanted them, just one simple swivel of my hips, and they would be there, touching me where I wanted it most; needed it most.

_Just touch me._

I internally pleaded.

_Touch me again, please._

My prayers didn't go entirely unanswered, as I smoothed on the antibacterial, his thumb now lazily running back and forth along the edge of my panties, briefly dipping under the obstructing cotton.

I wasn't sure what he was playing at.

I wasn't sure what his intentions actually were.

Was he toying with me?

Teasing?

Did he want me to ask?

Beg?

Did he?

Briefly looking up into his eyes, I found them still on me, just as green as the growing grass out back.

I made a mental note to remember to buy a lawnmower, as I dropped my gaze, trying to ignore the ache between my legs, as I tore off a piece of tape to hang from the counter and reached for the gauze, loosely wrapping it around his outstretched hand.

_I'm definitely not going to ask._

Securely taping the end, I smiled at my work, thoughtlessly bringing his open palm to my lips and lightly kissing the bandage.

I briefly reconsidered that previous thought, as his thumb dipped lower, just grazing the side of my wet lower lip, before his hand retreated, slipping all the way out from beneath my shorts. And I knew then that he was fucking with me for sure.

"All better," I assured, stepping away and gathering what supplies I hadn't used, putting them back in the kit.

That's when his wounded hand stopped me, pulling me back, caging me between himself and the sink.

His woodsy scent hit me again, smothering any sense I had left, as he brought his good hand to my jaw. I almost thought he was going to kiss me. I hoped that he would, as he lowered his hand, running the tips of his fingers over my neck and shoulder, down the length of my arm, where he wrapped them around my wrist, dipping my hand under the hem of his shirt to place it on the buckle of his jeans.

My heart was pounding triple time, and I was panting in disbelief, as I dutifully raised the other, popping the button and slowly lowering his zipper.

This was what I wanted.

I wanted to touch him, for him to let me, to want me to.

I wanted to make him feel how he made me feel, winded and hazy, turned inside out, upside down and then right side up.

Spinning.

Spinning.

Spinning.

Dizzy, right?

God, I was dizzy.

I wanted to make him feel good.

To drop to my knees and show him how I could.

Taste him.

Rising to the tips of my toes, I slid my hand inside to cup his hardness, barely touching his lips with mine when he pulled back, grabbing my wrist to stop me mid-stroke.

In shock from the abrupt retreat, I lifted my free hand to touch the tingle that lingered on my parted lips.

It wasn't until he loosened his hold that I looked up, watched him buckle his jeans, before grabbing his toolbox, never once looking back as he turned to leave.

The scuffing of his boots was heavy against the echoing wood floor, and I jumped with the loud slam of the front door, still holding my shocked, open mouth in my shaking hand.

I wanted to run after him, stop him.

I wanted to know what the hell it was that I had done wrong, or what I may have not done right.

But he was already gone.

Gone in his stubbornness and his inability to communicate; grunting and growling, manhandling me with the dominance that, God help me, had me burning hotter than the fire of Hades.

However, it wasn't the fire.

It was him.

His foolhardy, flippant rejection.

Him.

That was what hurt the most.

* * *

Don't worry, his dominating, sexual aggression is FAR from over, ladies and gent...gents? I wanna hear from you fella's, beard or not. ;) Has anyone connected his rejection with certain things that she does or tries?!...

And as you may have heard, or may have not... *pointed stare* I am collab-ing with my FFSMF (fanfiction soul mate forever) **Hoodfabulous** for the Dirty Talkin' Edward Contest - link's on my profile page. So, I pretty much can't even believe that I got this wrapped up on time. When we're not typin' dirty to each other we're talkin' dirty to each other, and you know how that goes...

Anyway, put us, **JonesnInDaHood** - link's on profile - profile pic is HI-larious, btw! Thanks for that, Monica Solis aka Caligirlmon, who is a freakin' genius ;) - and the contest on alert, if you're lookin' for some dirty, dirty. And let's be honest, who isn't?

Update next Friday ... hopefully.

And if you're reading In Mates, it's in the works.


	7. In the Garden

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Beta'd by SunflowerFran3759.

Mistakes are my own.

* * *

**In the Garden**

I was never much of a gardener, born with my mother's brown thumb and all. At least, that was what my grandma always used to tell me.

_"Gardening's a persnickety business, Bella, either you can or you can't. You, just simply can't,"_ she had said, shrugging the sting off with her shoulders, like she hadn't just broken my spirit.

It was the only time she ever told me I couldn't do something, if you didn't count eating in the living room, or coloring on her pristine, white walls.

And I believed her.

I still believed her to this day, seeing as everything I touched seemed to wither away and die.

Everything.

But she'd made up for it. She made up for pointing out and putting my flaws into perspective by pulling off her soil-stained gloves to lift my fallen chin. _"You have your mother's thumbs child, and her eyes and her hair," _she'd said, running her curving fingers through it; deforming arthritic joints couldn't even keep that woman down. _"I wouldn't change you for the world."_

My Grandma, while brutally honest, was the only one that ever talked about my mother, reminisced about who and how she used to be before she died; happy, warm-hearted, and carefree. Apparently I was nothing much like her, except for my looks, taking after my dad in the personality department. I was quiet and withdrawn, not too keen on showing emotion or affection, which was why I was so surprised I'd been so eager to put my hands, my lips, my entire, fucking body all over a man that wanted so little to do with them. Well … my lips, at the very least.

I'd figured it out tossing and turning all over the squeaky springs of little, Jacob Blacks bed last night. What had I done to make him change his mind? What was it that caused him to snap, turn around and run away from me?

Emotion?

Affection?

They were different from raw, sexual attraction, something I'd never experienced before that night in Rose's, open hallway.

It was better than any kiss I'd ever experienced, more passionate than any sex I'd ever had. And that was just his fingers, the burning look in his eyes and how he wouldn't take them off of me. I'd never thought about kissing before, wanting to or not wanting to do it. It was always decided for me. It was a given, a natural part of consummation; always nice, but never truly needed, not until now, not until I knew what that need actually felt like. And the fact that he didn't seem to feel it made me ache to kiss him that much more.

But wasn't that the way it always worked, we coveted what we couldn't have?

Maybe that was it, I thought, maybe I wanted it so much because I couldn't have it. Maybe it wasn't him, but the idea of him and how he was so mysterious and so standoffish that I had to work for it, that I had to strive just to get the hint of a taste.

Only, I knew that wasn't true, not even close.

I knew what I felt when my lips barely brushed his.

I knew what I felt.

It was different.

It was more than nice.

More than chemistry.

It was energy and intensity.

The strongest form of static electricity, the kind that makes the tiniest hairs on your skin stand on end.

I could still feel the charge coursing through my deprived body, and couldn't imagine what would have happened if he had kissed me back.

The words internally and combust were the first to come to mind, which wasn't exactly pleasant to picture.

But, what a way to go.

I wasn't sure when I finally fell asleep, my eyes opening to land on the same spot I'd pondered for half the night. But I felt refreshed nonetheless, jumping up from bed and slipping on a bra under my tank, before pulling on my cutoffs; the fringes reminding me of his fingers, and how they felt, calloused and confident, gliding along my skin.

I knew I wanted to feel them again. I wanted them on me again. And if that meant nothing above the sensitive hollow of my neck and his wide shoulders, then so be it.

I wanted him.

"Ah, fuck."

Craning my neck to look behind me, I found Alice on her knees, tentatively studying the fingers on her left hand.

"I broke a nail," she pouted, leaning back on her Sketchers Shape-Ups with a defeated sigh.

_Poor baby._

"See, this is why I hire people to do all the dirty work, by the time the job's finished I would have actually _saved_ money by saving my nails."

Ignoring her reasoning, I turned back to pulling the overgrown weeds that had weaseled their way into the bordering shrubbery. At least, I hoped they were weeds, as I ripped them from their roots a little more forceful than necessary.

I had to keep my mind distracted or else I was going to go crazy, reading too much into why Edward didn't show up to help out Jasper and his crew today.

"So, what did you think about Peter?"

Wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm, I sat back on my heels, looking around in search of the hand shovel. I needed to stab something.

"He seems nice," I said, instead of what I honestly wanted to, which was that he was boring and bland, blonde with blue eyes and so far from my type that the idea was even nauseating to muse. But most of all, I wanted to tell her that he could fuck off, rethink the pink, and buy a real pair of shoes.

Unfortunately, my grandma's gall was just another useful trait I hadn't inherited.

"Yeah, he liked you too," Alice sighed, twisting and contorting those three, simple words into some kind of connection, outdoing herself with that crazy quirk I've come to know and not love. Damn, she had a nerve that gnawed on mine.

I was going to let it go, take out my frustrations on the hardened soil, but I just couldn't. I couldn't let this situation seed itself and grow, root this delusional idea of hers that Peter and I would end up together. It just wasn't going to happen.

"Oh, yeah?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder to find her smiling widely as she nodded her head.

I smiled back.

"Too bad I don't date, remember?"

Her huff was drowned out by a set of tires barreling down the gravel drive.

My stomach flipped, and my heart skipped a beat before I even saw the midnight blue of the fairly new Ford.

Bending forward, I kept my head down, lifting my eyes discretely to watch as he pulled up to the far side of the house, jumped out and gathered some supplies.

He'd showered, I could tell, his limp hair fuller, and shining as bright as the copper pipes in the midday sun. The jeans he wore today were light and faded, clinging close in all the right places, I noticed, as he lifted the equipment from the open bed of the truck, the hem of his oil-stained, white tee shirt rising with his arms. The wrap on his hand almost feigned a fashion statement as he hauled two handfuls across the lawn, giving no indication of any discomfort or pain.

Leaning back on my heels again, I wiped more sweat from my forehead, looking up and meeting his eyes just before he took to the stairs and disappeared inside the house.

I wanted to follow after him, but knew Alice wouldn't be too far behind. Damn my need for running water, and her nice, but unhelpful insistence that she assist me in whatever I was doing today.

She hadn't acknowledged what may or may not have happened up against the wall at Rose's the other night, but I could tell she wanted to.

I could see the wheels turning inside her head, bursting at the cogs to tell me what a bad idea this was, and that he was no good for me; that he'd only break my heart and leave me hanging somewhere down the line. But what she hadn't yet come to realize was that my heart was already broken. And there wasn't much that he could or couldn't do that would hinder or even heal it.

"I was thinking that maybe we could go out as a group, ya know, go to dinner or just hang out."

Dropping the shovel to the ground, I turned to gape at her.

"It wouldn't be a date or anything; you could just get to know one another, be friends … at the very least, Bella."

With a scoff and a stunned smile, I shook my head, turning my back to her and her relentless nagging.

I didn't need any friends.

I didn't need her pushing or her input on how I should live my life and who I should let into it.

What I needed was running water, and that's exactly what she was … a goddamn water source.

Thankfully she seemed to get a clue for once, keeping quiet for the remainder of the afternoon, only huffing or sighing when something particularly annoyed. The day dragged on painfully slow, and I didn't understand why she wouldn't just leave. One thing I prided myself on was my sense of awareness of what was happening around me. I knew when I wasn't wanted. I knew when I'd worn out my welcome. I wasn't oblivious.

The more glances I snuck at the house, the more uneasy I became. I knew Alice was watching me, I could feel it. I could feel her stare shifting from the house to bore into the back of my head. And maybe I gave her less credit than she deserved. Maybe she knew him better than I ever would, or ever could. But she didn't know me. She didn't know what I could handle or what I was willing to put up with when it came to what I wanted.

And huge mistake or not, I wanted him, was pretty sure I needed it, him, whatever he was willing give.

Remember…

Distraction.

Our goodbyes were strained at best, since I didn't even turn to face her, only acknowledging her not-soon-enough departure with one curt wave over my shoulder.

I waited until everyone had packed up and gone before throwing all the tools in the wheelbarrow, pulling off my gloves and making my way into the cool house.

Stepping inside, I threw the dirty gloves on the door side table, wiping some more sweat from my forehead and off the back of my neck, the crease of my brow deepening in puzzlement.

Something felt different, looked different, I thought, walking further into the room. And that's when it hit me, standing in the center of the foyer, turning in a slow, unsure circle.

It was the wallpaper.

It was gone.

Every last bit of the wallpaper was gone, not a piece seen on the wall, not a strip left on the floor.

Gone.

Heart pounding, I clenched my fists, a sudden blur burning my eyes. He'd come in and did more in an afternoon than I had done in two days. And I didn't know whether to be thankful or furious.

This was_ my_ house, this was _my _burden to bare, my walls to strip and clean and prime and paint, if for no other reason than to know that I could. But goddamn had it been a pain in the ass … and my arms.

Stopping by the kitchen first, I noticed he'd stripped it along with the spare room and the small bathroom, too, which left Jacob's room, my bedroom.

Standing outside the cracked door, I listened as he quietly worked, the only sound coming from the steamer as it hissed and hummed.

I watched him through the crack of the door; saw the sheen of sweat rolling from his arms, glistening in the setting sun that glared through the shadeless window.

My eyes landed on his hand, the white wrapping that had since been stained with a shadow of blood. And I realized in that moment that I felt thankful, grateful, the way I should have from the start.

This man may not have been able to show me affection or emotion with his mouth or his words, but his actions spoke volumes and I heard him loud and clear.

Pushing the door open, I stepped inside, knocking on the frame in hopes of not startling him, if that were at all possible.

"Hey," I said, watching as the muscles in his back went rigid.

"I was gonna make some dinner," I started, hesitating before opening my mouth again and just taking a damn chance. What was the worst that could happen? He'd say no, right?

Well, that would be the worst.

"Would you want some?"

He stood silent, leaning against the ladder for the longest time, just staring at a spot on the wall, before finally nodding his head.

I watched him work for a moment longer before leaving him to finish.

I made my way back to the kitchen, where I pulled out two cans of vegetable soup to heat up in the microwave.

Edward came out just as I was setting the bowls, along with two bottles of water down on the table, and took the seat I pointed to, digging right in like he'd been starving.

Slowly spooning mine, I watched as he ate, his slurps no less of a turn on than the sweat still rolling off of his bronzed skin.

If he noticed my ogling, he gave no indication, leaning back and letting out a loud belch in the opposite direction.

I took it as a compliment, remembering one of my father's old sayings, "_Not bad manners, just good food."_

This was the most relaxed I'd ever seen him, as he lifted his wounded hand and thoughtlessly scratched the edge of his beard.

I smiled at his profile before pushing out my chair, reminding him of where he was and who he was with, as he quickly stood with me, grabbing his dish and then taking mine to place them both in the sink.

I followed closely behind, stopping him as he started to clean them off.

"Leave it," I ordered, grabbing his hand and pulling it towards me. "Let me see," I said, un-wrapping the bandage and inspecting his hand, happy that there were no signs of infection, just some healthy bleeding.

My eyes flitted up to his momentarily before I pulled the first-aid kit from the drawer to repeat the process, same as yesterday; only this time he kept his fingers to himself, clenching them into a tight fist at his side.

Once he was rewrapped, I glanced down where his jean buckle laid hidden under his oil-stained shirt, wondering if I went for it if he would stop me. I wondered if I told him I understood if he would let me. Would he take the reins and put my hands and my mouth where he wanted them?

Would he?

Because I would let him.

I wanted him to.

Looking back up, I tried to convey my thoughts with my eyes. And when that didn't seem to work, I licked my lips, opening and closing my mouth, trying to work up the courage to tell him that he could use me however he saw fit. But what came out was something entirely different.

"Do you think I could use your shower?"

His eyes slightly widened, before narrowing and lowering toward the sink, a small smirk forming under the camouflage of his thick beard. My heart fluttered at the first show of amusement to flash across his hollow eyes, and I smirked back at him, even though he couldn't see it.

I waited for an answer, staring at him as he stared at the dirty dishes, my heart fluttering when he cleared his throat. For sure, I thought he was going to speak, say something more to me than the grunts, and the one, clipped sentence, he'd spoken the first night he ran. But he only nodded, jerking his head for me to follow, before walking off and out the door.

The sun set quickly, as I drove closely behind him, completely setting by the time we pulled into a hidden drive, just passed Rose and Emmett's place. I didn't realize he lived so close or else I probably wouldn't have asked. The last thing I needed was for Rose to see my car and call Alice and have her show up on his doorstep.

I pushed those thoughts and worries aside, as I focused on the narrow road ahead, the large trees looming above, forming a whimsically eerie archway; their branches billowing with the blowing wind to let the bright light of the moon shine through.

The cabin was dark and gloomy, its stairs even squeakier than mine, as I followed him up, waiting until he flipped the light on before stepping inside.

The decorum was what I would have expected – nonexistent – a plain, brown couch pressed up against the bare, wood wall, a boxed out TV sitting on a makeshift stand opposite it with a set of rabbit ears on top. There were no curtains or throw pillows; no rugs, no runner on the tiny, dining room table. But it was clean, and it was cool, and it smelled nice; rustic and woody, exactly like him.

My eyes fluttered closed as I breathed him in, the scent so overwhelming I felt myself sway. When I opened them, he was gone.

Glancing from side to side, I stepped further inside and peeked down the hallway, finding a bright light shining from an open door and hesitantly started for it.

I was even more hesitant when I saw that it was the bathroom, and a towel and washcloth had been folded and left on the counter by the sink. It seemed so rude to just walk in, strip and jump into his shower without some type of verbal confirmation that this towel and washcloth were even for me. Maybe he wanted to take I a shower, too. I didn't know. But it wasn't as if I was going to go snooping through his place and track him down to make sure.

I asked, and he had said yes, so stepping inside the bathroom, I closed the door, feeling around and then reaching up to find no lock.

"Okay…" I mumbled to myself, turning back to the tub and twisting the handles until the temperature was perfect.

Glancing back at the door, I quickly stripped out of my clothes, pulled up on the shower nozzle and jumped inside, shutting the curtain behind me.

The water was searing in the best sort of way, steaming up the room, loosening my sore muscles from a day of angry, weed pulling. I could have stood under the hot spray all night, just basking in the forceful water pressure. This shower was so much better than Alice's.

Dipping my head back, I closed my eyes to wet my hair, hurriedly wiping the water from my face when I felt a brush of cool air.

The steam was suddenly stifling, causing my throat to close up as I watched Edward step inside the shower and move closer to place both hands on my hips. The rough pads of his thumbs swept over the bones before slowly sliding up my sides, digging lightly into my skin. He was undeniably naked, pressing himself into my lower stomach, sending me into near convulsions as it fluttered and flipped against his hardness.

Pushing himself up against my heaving chest, he kept one hand firmly on my waist as the other reached behind us to grab a nearly empty bottle of shampoo. I almost whimpered when he pulled his lingering hand away, squeezing out a small palm full of the clear liquid, before setting the bottle down and lathering it in his hands.

Assuming it was for him, I turned around to reach for the bottle, stopping when I felt his hands run through my hair, his fingers working small, concentric circles into the back of my scalp. My eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, sending the tingle of goose bumps sprouting all over my skin.

I suddenly felt weak in the knees, leaning back to brace myself against his solid form. I sucked in a short breath as the rigid underside of his cock came into contact with my back. He was so hard, pulsating against the base of my spine, as my hands splayed out over his thighs.

I wanted to take care of it, take away the ache I could tell he was suffering because I was suffering too. If his pain was anywhere near as bad as mine was, then I knew what he needed, wanted. And I was desperate to give it to him, as he pushed into me gently, grabbing my hips to turn me back around to face him.

Fingers firm, he was gentle, just like he always was, keeping the water from my eyes while he rinsed the fresh, spring bubbles from my hair. Following the suds down my neck and over my shoulders, he rested on the swell of my breasts. His thumbs swept over my hardened nipples, causing me to suck in a deep breath as he leaned down, taking one in his mouth. I watched as his tongue swirled and his lips sucked, parting the water that ran down my chest, before he moved to the other, his beard scratching the sensitive skin in between.

My nipples loved the attention, but my mouth felt needy. I had to fist my hands and bite my lip to keep from going after his mouth when he raised his head, lifting my leg to prop my foot on the ledge. His fingers slick with soap, they slipped right into me, and I rocked into his hand, still biting my lip to keep some sliver of sanity. It felt unnatural, not kissing, just moaning as my jaw went slack and my mouth fell open.

I came a lot quicker than the first go around, since constantly thinking about it had me on the verge at all times. And with a few blunt thrusts, I was clenching around his fingers, pressing myself hard into his steady hand. He let me ride it out this time, keeping his fingers deep inside of me until I stopped moving.

If those fingers had insisted, I could have probably come again and just as quickly, but I didn't want to be greedy. I wanted to be giving, and appreciative by dropping to my knees on the hard porcelain of the tub.

Looking up at him, I held his eyes, as the spray ran off the back of his bent head, dripping drops of water all around me. I waited until he slightly bucked forward, letting him press the head of his cock against my mouth before parting my lips and licking the tip; grabbing the base of his cock, as it jumped up and away from my mouth.

Wrapping my lips around his thick girth, I took him in as far as I could while jacking the rest of his length with my hand. With his grunt of approval, I moaned. My heart skipped a beat, quickening as he took control, fisted the back of my hair to hold me still, pushing himself further down my throat.

"Fuck," he mumbled, and I moaned again, swallowing around him. He groaned, "Oh, fuck."

Pulling away, he let me breathe, but I didn't need to breathe, lunging forward to take him back in my mouth. He seemed to get the hint as he cursed, letting me bob up and down on his stiff cock, before holding me in place to push it down my throat again. Moaning, I fought a gag, as I swallowed, relaxing my mouth as he started to fuck my face. His curses grew louder as his grunts ran deeper, alternating between forcing my mouth up and down his slippery shaft to pushing his whole cock down my throat. I knew he was close when his grip on my hair tightened, his hips bucked erratically and I tasted the salty hint of precum. With one final push, he growled out, holding me against him as his cock twitched. Hot spurts of cum coated the back of my tongue and I swallowed it all, sucking him clean as he softened inside my mouth.

Euphoric, I kissed what he would let me, his thighs, his hips, the trail leading up the center of his rippled abdomen. Crawling up his slippery body, his hands explored mine, as I kissed all the way up, stopping in the center of his chest.

Pushing me back against the cool tiles, he brought his fingers to my mouth. I kissed them before he parted my lips, wetting the digits with my own tongue and trailing them down my body, sliding them back inside.

* * *

Don't forget to put TheDirtyTalkinEdwardContest (type in search under author) on alert! Me and **Hoodfabulous **have been workin' hard for the dirty.

Everybody check out Never Judge By the Cover by** Postapocalypticdepository** it's a fun interactive guessing game that keeps you on the edge of your seat. But, don't forget to bring your thesaurus...you're also going to learn a thing or two ;)

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I love your reviews, they're like these sparkly sugar cookies I keep shoving into my mouth and I love them.

:D


	8. On top of the old, oak table

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Beta'd by SunflowerFran3759.

Mistakes are my own.

* * *

**On top of the old, oak table**

I dedicate this to Mr. Hood aka Rico Suave de Mississippi

* * *

I'd slept better than I had the night before, but woke up tired as ever, startled by the sound of those loud-ass diggers and Jasper's overseeing, Southern drawl.

Slowly lifting myself on rapidly, aging bones, I crawled to the edge of the bed, stepping off and stumbling across the floor to squint out the window.

The man was mellow, but could belt out an order like a goddamn Drill Sergeant when the occasion called for it, and I briefly wondered if he secretly reeled Alice in with all that repressed aggression. And if so, that was something I'd like to see.

Smiling, I pictured her on her knees, much like she was yesterday, bowed down and pouting. Yeah, I was fairly certain Jasper Hale was the only one that could possibly rein in that level of crazy. And I had to hand it to him, 'cause he sure as hell had his full.

My attention shifted from blonde to burnished, as another man came in to view; a man that held just as much power, but never voiced it.

Never.

Not yet.

Not to me, anyway, even though I wanted him to.

Desperately.

Everything about this man made me desperate.

The way he always seemed to know exactly what I was thinking, wanting, needing. And if I wasn't thinking, wanting, or needing it, then he made me – think it, want it, need it.

Bad.

And I didn't like it.

I didn't like that I wanted him so badly.

… only I did.

I did like it.

How the sweat rolled down his shiny, tanned back, dripping and disappearing beneath the low-hanging waist of his dark-wash jeans. How he worked his fingers to the bone from dawn to dusk; no complaints, no problems. He just did it, and genuinely seemed to want to. He had the nature of a provider, a trait I subconsciously held very near and dear to my heart.

He reminded me of my father in that sense, not that I was comparing him to my father. I didn't have 'daddy issues', per se. I just knew he was a good man. The only man that ever truly took good care of me.

And that's what Edward was.

A good man.

A good man that was taking good care of me.

There was no wrapping on his hand, I noticed, and physically cringed. He most likely didn't have any supplies at his cabin, and there was no way it had healed overnight. He needed something covering it, or it was going to get infected from God-knows-what festering in all that turned-up soil.

He raked at it as if it were no big deal, bending over every so often to pick up and throw aside some foreign body that happened to be in his way.

Briefly glancing at the bedside table, I thought about pulling out the first aid kit, running out there and bandaging it up before he could do any real damage. But then I thought better of it. If memory served, males didn't appreciate a woman making them look weak. I didn't know how he'd take to being coddled and cared for in front of the other men. And I didn't really care to find out, since the last thing I wanted was to alienate him and ruin what little progress we'd already made.

While I painfully watched, I couldn't help but admire his resilience, his strength, the fact that it never seemed to bother him; his hand. Nothing ever seemed to bother him, except for having any part of me near any part of his beautifully, bearded face. And it made me wonder…

Was he, the mysterious man inside, as resilient and strong as his lithe and able body?

Could he even possibly hope to overcome what tragedies he had seen, what damage he had endured while fighting across seas?

My heart skipped a beat at the thought, worried he would never recover, that he would never warm up to these increasingly needy parts of me; parts that I was quickly coming to realize were probably always there, sunk deep down, dwelling dormant inside of my soul.

Who knew that this whole time it had been already there?

I thought this no-strings-attached sex thing would be easy, but it wasn't. It was coming with a price, it would seem; a price that took away my pride and my dignity; left me naked and spent, my insides running as cold as the spray of that shower, as I watched Edward step out, and close the curtain behind him.

It was my cue.

_Sucking through clenched teeth, I had crouched under the cooling water. Quick to shut it off, I shivered as I stepped out, reaching for the towel to dry myself off, before throwing on the same, dirty clothes. I hadn't even thought to bring a clean pair, too flustered to even function, as I followed him straight out the front door, and all the way back to his secluded cabin in the woods._

Watching him bend and stretch, I shook my head at the memory.

_My hair still dripping wet, I walked out into the living room, scanning all four corners and peeking into the kitchen. And when I didn't see him, I had picked up my keys, took one last look down the darkened hallway and then left, somehow feeling dirtier than when I'd first arrived._

But I didn't feel that way now.

Looking at him, and having him so close, knowing that he would most likely linger the rest of the day, and long after everyone else left, I didn't feel that way.

I didn't feel dirty or ashamed.

I felt comforted.

Content.

Happy.

All of that pooling warmth rushed to the pit of my stomach, dropping like a rock with the shrill ring of my cell phone.

There were only two people that had my number, and I didn't want to talk to either of them.

The only person I wanted to talk to was standing right outside my window, working hard in the heat of the early, morning sun, yawning as he stretched and scratched the itchy underside of his beard.

Feeling a pull at my lips, and maybe a light tug on my heart, I let the first call go to voicemail, keeping my eyes on him instead. I didn't bother to look at the I.D. until the second call rang out, echoing even louder off the fresh, barren walls.

Hesitantly, I looked away to pick up the phone, briefly glancing at the screen, before setting it back down when I didn't recognize the number.

I looked back up as Edward threw his shovel to the ground, and stalked over to the cooler sitting just below the window seal. I swallowed hard, fighting against the sticky dryness in my throat, as he bent down, popping back up to look right back at me.

His gaze held mine as he unscrewed the bottle of water, its condensation dripping just as quickly as the beads of sweat rolling down his skin.

Never in my life had I ever desired to lick the salty result of a man's hard work and labor, but standing there, staring at him … I wanted to taste his. I wanted to drink it like he was that lucky, fucking water.

My cheeks heated with my thoughts, and his knowing stare; my eyes dropping to the lifting flex of his upper arm. The muscle there balled and bulged, stressing the blue hue of flowing, virile veins.

His body was a wonder, even more so when it moved, cut and curved in all the right places. Every muscle had a purpose and made that purpose known as they rippled and smoothed under the surface of his wet skin.

I knew it better than the back of my hand.

Already, I knew it better.

Raising my gaze, our eyes met as the phone started to ring again.

I looked away for a second to see the same number lighting up the screen, before turning back to watch him walk away and head for the shovel.

Pushing the ignore button, I sent it to voicemail, hoping they'd get a clue and stop calling. But the more it rang, the more curious I got, as I held it in the palm of my hand. And on the sixth or seventh failed attempt to try and get a hold of me, I slid the bar to talk, placing the phone against my ear.

"Hello?" I answered; hearing nothing in return, except a sharp inhale and then some hushed, labored breathing.

I listened for a moment, realization dawning just before she spoke.

_"Bella?"_

Heart pounding, my labored breaths strived to match hers. Opening my mouth, I almost spoke back, wanting to know how in the hell she got this number.

_"Bella?"_

"Bella?"

Startling, I dropped the phone from my ear, pressing end and setting it back on the bedside table, before turning to face the snoopy intruder.

Standing at opposite ends of my bedroom, Alice and I stared each other down – her in a pair of hot pants, and tight, tangerine tube top, me still in my matching black tank and panty set. Considering her state of undress, I briefly entertained the idea of just heading outside in my underwear, since I was obviously overdressed.

"You gonna answer that?" Alice asked, pointing to the ringing phone lying beside me.

I shook my head.

"Wasn't planning on it."

Pressing silence, I walked over to my dresser drawers, pulling one open and grabbing a pair of cutoffs. I whipped them out a little rougher than necessary, slamming the drawer shut, and pulled them on. The phone started to ring again, so I turned it off, before stepping around her and her crossed arms to head out the door. The sun was out, and I was going to need a few extra endorphins to deal with this shit today.

It wasn't as hot, but what it lacked in heat it made up for in suffocating humidity, as I grabbed the broom resting against the barn-red, wood siding, needlessly sweeping nothing from the porch.

I didn't look up as the screen door creaked and slammed shut. I didn't even look up when she spoke.

"I wanted to say I was sorry. I'm sorry," she repeated, huffing as she sat on the top step. "I probably should've called first, but honestly I didn't think you'd answer."

Picking at her blood-red fingernails, she mumbled toward her bedazzled, flip-flopped feet. "You never answer."

Pathetic.

She was absolutely pathetic, hanging her head in silence, finally accepting defeat.

And it pissed me off.

It pissed me off because it made me feel guilty.

It was as though I had broken her.

Leaning against the splintered railing, I wrung my hands around the rough handle of the broom. I didn't know what to say. The only other fight I'd ever had with a friend ended in tears and sworn threats. She was the one person left that I could trust, and I never wanted to see her again, never wanted to hear from her again, and never thought I would … not until today.

Propping the broom back up against the house, I plopped down on the step beside her. We sat there in silence, listening to Jasper belt out orders, as the boys dug up some more of my growing, green grass. Soon I wouldn't even have to worry about buying a lawn mower.

"Look …" Alice started, nervously chipping some more paint off her unkempt fingernails. I waited, watching Edward work out in the field as she picked. Regardless of how she tested my patients, I wanted to hear her out. I didn't want to be another wedge to come between her and her brother, but if push came to shove, I would.

"I know I can be a little pushy," she admitted, looking over just in time to catch my nod.

Smiling, she looked away and toward Edward, the upturned corner of her mouth slightly falling. "I'm sorry," she needlessly said again. All was forgiven and forgotten, as long as she continued to keep her nose out of who or what I was doing in my spare time.

Everyone deserved a second chance … right?

My thoughts went to a certain someone … a certain someones and I wasn't so sure anymore.

I guess it all depended on what you were willing to forgive, what you were willing to accept and live with.

Alice's meddling was of course second chance worthy, and with a nod of my head, I simply chose to forgive her.

"Okay."

The rest of the day was lazy, as Alice and I exchanged stories of care-free childhoods and angst-filled, teenaged years, both leaving out the most important parts of our pasts. But, it was a start – sharing and laughing, well into the late afternoon.

Most of the guys had packed up and gone, all but Jasper, Peter, and Edward, both who had been eyeing each other, and then occasionally me and Alice at a distance for most of the day.

"Let 'em down easy, okay?"

It was all she said, before getting up and dusting off her bottom. I watched as she hopped down the stairs and into Jasper's waiting arms, kissing him full on the lips. Turning back, she waved goodbye, before climbing in her Caddy, and leaving just the three of us behind, which wasn't awkward at all.

Standing, I dusted myself off as Peter approached. Meeting him at the bottom of the steps, I looked past his shoulder as he spoke.

"So uh, you never gave me an, uh, an answer," he stuttered, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his plaid button-up, "whether you, uh, wanted to, uh, to go with me or not." Stepping closer, he looked over his shoulder, before turning back towards me. I just kept looking at Edward, his stoic stance. One hand on the handle of the shovel, the other was balled into a fist at his side; my gaze only left his glaring one when I felt Peter place a stray hair behind my ear.

Backing away slightly, I looked up into his blue eyes and smiled, letting him down easy with a simple "I'm sorry." And thankfully he seemed to understand, as he bowed his head with a solemn nod.

He really was a sweet guy, just not the guy for me, and I was about to tell him that when he came at me, his lips puckered, heading right for my lips.

I turned my head just in time for them to hit the corner of my mouth, meeting the retreating back of the only man's lips I wanted on me.

Pushing Peter away, I told him he should go, before chasing after Edward, just reaching his lowered, driver's side window as the truck roared to life. I placed my hands on the warm frame, the vibrations making my voice feel shaky, or maybe I just was.

"I'm making chicken and dumplings tonight, I uh, thought you could stay," I said, feeling incredibly desperate and clingy when he pushed on the gas, revving the engine like my offer wasn't good enough. Tightening my grip on the heated doorframe, I looked down, licking my lips before looking back up at his hardened profile.

I could do this.

I could say it.

I could, I repeatedly reassured myself.

And ignoring the knot in my stomach, I did.

"I want you to stay," I admitted a little bit louder, feeling my insides heat when he cut the ignition. Tearing my eyes away from his green agreeance, I stepped back as he opened the door and climbed out. Peter's silver Volvo tore down the gravel drive, as I walked ahead and into the house, leaving the door opened for Edward.

Hearing the door shut, my heart rate picked up with every heavy step he took. Feeling him enter the room, I hesitantly pulled two cans of chicken and dumplings out of the cupboard, a little embarrassed that all I had to offer was a shitty assortment of canned and/or frozen foods.

I flat out refused to bust out the Ramen noodles, no way.

The quick preparation was silent except for the loud hum of the microwave. I stood close, doing everything in my power to press stop and avoid the obnoxious beeping, as his stare bore into my back, leaving me tingly and anxious.

I wondered how he felt about me microwaving everything.

Did he grow up with a mother that cooked homemade meals?

Did he expect that out of a woman?

I knew his parents were still alive, both understanding and exceptionally proud of their two children. According to Alice, their mother Esme was an angel, their father Carlisle, a saint. And both desperately wanted to meet me.

I wondered how he would feel about that, if he would even care.

I wondered if he still saw them, or still talked to them.

Had he pushed them out of his life just like he had everyone else?

Was he so broken that he couldn't even accept the unconditional love his family still held for him?

I could see it in Alice's eyes, the way they brightened when reminiscing about the way things used to be.

She loved him.

She still loved him with all of her bruised heart.

Stuck inside my own head, I wasn't paying attention as the second bowl of soup timed out, the beep surging through my chest and echoing off the kitchen walls.

Why the hell did it have to beep so many times anyway?

Once was enough.

I mean, damn.

Pulling out the heated hunk of plastic, I shut the door with a cringe.

Fucking microwaves.

They were a debilitating Godsend, and I hated them.

They made me lazy and repetitive, and boring and predictable.

And staring down at the chunky, chicken slosh, I decided it looked absolutely inedible, as I grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, placing both in front of him.

I avoided looking at him, as I doubled back to get my bowl and another bottle of water, before finally sitting down, still avoiding his face.

The silence this time was most definitely uncomfortable, as we both poked and prodded at our microwaved sludge. I could feel the tension rolling from him, could sense the stress of his tense muscles, as he restlessly shifted in his seat.

It wasn't until he finally settled that I brought the first bite to my mouth, the spoon stopping midair when he cleared his throat.

"You don't want him."

His voice was deeper than I remembered, reverberating through my beating chest to sink into my stomach and rise into my throat. I choked on his unexpected words, dropping the spoon and reaching for my water only to knock it off the table, and spill it all over the floor.

_For the love …_

Popping up and out of my chair, I hurriedly grabbed a roll of paper towels, tearing a few off and placing them on top of the spreading mess. I watched as the water soaked through, deflating the soft puffs of white into flat, sopping lumps of gray.

This day was quickly taking a turn, as I bent to pick up the drenched paper towels, and Edward's rough hand wrapped around my wrist.

"Leave it," he ordered, repeating my exact words from last night when he tried to do the dirty dishes.

Shocked by his insistence, I stumbled as he pulled me closer, pushing out his chair, and placing me between his spread knees.

Releasing my wrist, he lifted the hem of my tank; unfastening the button of my shorts and lowering the zipper, letting them fall to my feet.

My breathing picked up as he skimmed the skin along both of my trembling legs; his calloused fingers tracing the lace on my panties, just pushing under the edges to test my reaction to him. He looked up and into my eyes when he felt it, how wet I was.

"You don't want him," he growled, daring me to disagree, as I fervently shook my head, releasing out a held breath.

"No," I swore, gasping as he stood, lifting me up to sit me on the table.

Loosening his fingers from around my waist, he curled them under sides of my panties. I lifted my hips while he slowly slid them over my thighs and down my legs, throwing them aside as he pulled up the chair and took a seat.

I leaned back as he grabbed each ankle, placed my feet on the edge of the table, and spread me open.

Seeing his eyes darken and fixate on the space between my parted legs, I felt my inner walls flutter, felt the pooling wetness leak out, spilling over the curve of my ass, as he leaned forward, running his beard along my inner thigh.

He knew what he was doing.

He knew that this was killing me, that it was driving me crazy, the teasingly rough bristle grazing my sensitive skin.

Lying back, I couldn't watch.

Propping myself back up, I couldn't not watch, as the tickling hairs on his jaw suddenly scratched along my other thigh, his hot breath hitting my center. Inhaling deeply, he hovered there, blowing out more of his heat, warming me from the outside-in. Whimpering, I was teetering on the verge of just grabbing his head and shoving him into me, when he leaned forward, flicking out and flattening his tongue against my aching flesh.

"Oh, God," I groaned out, as he licked the length of my slit, sliding back down to circle my entrance, before slipping his stiffened tongue inside. Working it in and out, he smoothly replaced it with two fingers, licking back up to wrap his lips around my throbbing clit.

Propping myself up higher, I dug my heels into the edge of the old, oak table, pushing harder into the blunt force of his fingers. I watched as his head bobbed up and down, catching brief glances of that glistening, pink tongue, as it steadily flicked my swollen nub.

Too close to coming, I squeezed my legs together, basking in the thick prickle of his beard rubbing against my squirming thighs. Grabbing me by the underside of one knee, he bent it back, opening me up to him, as he increased his speed, his tongue lapping hungrily over just the right spot.

"Fuck," I gritted out, as my hands slid down my torso to lightly skim the bristle on his jaw, coming to rest on the back of his head. I flushed with a light sheen of sweat, as my fingers tangled in his hair, heating with the humidity of his dampened roots.

Taking one, last look at his head nestled between my thighs; my toes went numb, shooting a surge of heat up the base of my spine, warming my shaking, upper thighs. And with another glistening flash of his tongue against my pink flesh, I was coming.

I was coming in Edward's mouth.

On Edward's tongue.

_Fuck!_

I was …

I was …

"Ungh, fuck!" I cursed, clenching around the fullness of his fingers, holding his head tightly against me as I shook and shattered, lazily riding the last of it out.

I didn't want to let go.

I didn't want to let go because his lips were on me.

Edward's lips were on me.

And I never wanted them to stop.

* * *

FB - Jonesn Fanfiction for teasers to upcoming chapters.

Don't forget to put the DirtytalkinEdwardContest on alert.

Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I love it when you talk back to me and tell me your thoughts, but I also want to know your dirty secrets. So tell me, where's the dirtiest, most daring place you've ever done it?

*raises hand* In a barn.

I know you can do better. ;)


	9. June 6th

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Beta'd by SunflowerFran3759.

Mistakes are my own.

Thanks to my Hoodie, Hoodfabulous for her always helpful input ;) kisses

* * *

**June 6th**

* * *

It was an early morning.

So early, I woke up before Jasper and his crew had the chance to haul their noisy asses down the drive and do the job for me.

So early that I was even up before the sun; sitting in the exact chair that Edward had sat in last night; eating my microwaveable pancakes on the exact spot that he had eaten me.

_Well, shit._

Now, not only was I feeling incredibly anxious and irritated, I was horny.

Like, really horny.

Always horny.

_Damn._

Squirming in my seat, I pushed away my half-eaten plate and picked up my phone. My finger hovered over the tiny, power button on top, wanting, yet not wanting to push it.

I knew why she was calling.

At least, I thought I knew why she was calling.

Either way, I didn't want to hear it.

I didn't want to hear what she had to say.

I did, but I didn't, ya know?

The one reason I had gotten this new number was so I wouldn't have to; I wouldn't have to make the decision to hear or not hear her out; the predictable excuses she repeatedly used to explain the unexplainable, how she tirelessly tried and tried to make me understand the un-understandable, her determined reasoning for why I should forgive the unforgivable.

Before I could stop myself, I pressed the button, feeling the awakening vibration thrill through my hand, hearing the obnoxious noises it made as it powered to life.

My eyes fluttered away from the screen, zoning in on the front door as I heard them all pull in. And my phone buzzed again, against my palm once, twice …

_How many times did she call?_

Ten missed messages popped up on the screen, three back to back, the rest spaced out randomly throughout the day. But only one voicemail was left.

Ignoring the blinking icon, I pulled up my contacts; a pathetic list of three people – Alice, Rose, and my equally nosy Aunt Sue.

I let out a heavy sigh, as I selected Sue's smiling face, waiting for it to connect before placing the phone up to my ear, tapping my foot against the ugly, yellow linoleum while I waited.

The first call went to voicemail, and I hung up and tried again.

I knew she had her phone.

She always had her phone.

And she always had it on.

She wasn't fooling anybody, the meddlesome, old woman.

Looking at my father and his older sister, you could tell they were related with their hazel-hued eyes and matching, black hair. But when it came to personality and personal points of view they were worlds apart – two completely different people. And even though I was furious over what she had done, I took comfort in knowing that if my father were still here it wouldn't have made any difference.

Some things never changed.

Dialing her number again, I let it ring until her outgoing message sounded through the receiver, informing me she was busy, but she'd call me back as soon as she got this.

_Yeah, right._

A loud beep shot through my ear and I flinched, pulling the phone away, and ending the call a second time.

My finger hovered over the call button as I stared down at the phone, my heart jumping into my throat as it lit up, flashing her name across the screen.

Watching it ring, I let it go to voicemail, not quite ready to talk, and maybe just wanting to give her a little taste of her own medicine.

I picked up on the first ring of her second attempt.

"I know what you're gonna say, but just hear me out." she blurted, asking way too much of me. But I remained quiet anyway; curious as to how she could have sold me out so easily.

"She showed up at my doorstep at two in the morning, Bella, crying honest-to-God tears. Wha-"

"Aw, really?" I asked in mock concern, cutting her off, my tone laced with the congenital, Swan sarcasm.

"She was crying?" I added, feeling my own _honest-to-God_ tears well up in my own eyes.

I didn't give a fuck if she was drowning in them.

"Was she crying as bad as _I_ was when_ I_ showed up at your doorstep that night?" I asked, my voice breaking as the memories assaulted my mind.

"Do you remember? Do you even care?" I questioned, clearing my throat and swallowing the rising ache. She could be so thoughtless sometimes, and at other times, overly sentimental. And when the two combined, her actions were utterly reckless.

God love her, as he knew I did.

This infuriating woman …

Her heart was always in the right place.

"Of course I remember, Bella," she sighed, "but I also remember before all of that."

My chin quivered with the subtle lowering of her voice, all I'd lost in one, life-changing moment, and knowing nothing could ever make it right.

"Sometimes we do things we can't explain, Bella," she paused, blowing a faint breath into her end of the receiver, "things we can't take back. They're called mistakes."

Aunt Sue would know all about mistakes. From her many, failed business attempts to her even more, failed marriages that always ended with her crashing on our couch, sometimes sporting a pretty, purple shiner under one of her shamed, hazel eyes. She was the worst judge of character and had major dependency issues with both men and pills. It seemed she could never do anything right, nearly bleeding my grandma dry, before honing in on my dad. Such a loving brother, he never turned her away, never left her hanging.

And, I understood that.

I understood that she was his sister, his blood, his family.

I understood why he couldn't just turn his back and abandon her for the mistakes she'd made and continued making.

I understood.

And while Angela and I didn't share blood, I had considered her family. I had considered her a sister, and I tried to forgive her. God knows I tried, but sleeping with your best friend's fiancé, well, that wasn't a mistake.

It was the ultimate betrayal.

Closing my eyes, I rested my forehead in the palm of my hand.

I couldn't do this today.

I couldn't do this any day, especially with someone who would never truly understand.

"Yeah, okay, Aunt Sue, I gotta go."

Hanging up, I didn't catch the last of her drawn out goodbye, turning my phone back off before getting up and throwing away the rest of the picked-at pancakes.

Was it crazy that I wished Edward was still here; that he didn't up and leave right after wiping the wetness from his lips and beard with the back of his hand?

Was it wishful thinking that this could be more than just sex, that he could know my pain and my problems, and take them all away with one, simple touch?

He didn't even have to touch me; honestly, just having him near would be enough.

Searching through the kitchen window, I didn't find him standing in the mass of men, so I stepped out onto the porch, seeing that his truck was nowhere to be found.

"We should have'er done by this afternoon," a southern drawl informed, his blurry silhouette approaching in my periphery.

Glancing over at Jasper, I nodded, not really caring in the least about the pipes, wanting to ask him if he knew where Edward was.

But I didn't.

I didn't have to.

"It's the sixth, he won't show," was all he said, offering no explanation, before turning his back and disappearing around the side of the house.

Going back inside, I wondered what was so special about today.

Knowing he was in the service and that something devastating had to have happened to him only made me worry.

Was he okay?

Was he hurting?

Of course, he was hurting.

But, did he need someone?

_Should _I be worried?

Jasper knew him, knew that whatever happened on the sixth kept him away. This was an expected thing, so I shouldn't be worried … right?

Making my way into the spare room, I decided that, no, I shouldn't be worried, and now was a good a time as any to start unpacking the three boxes I'd brought.

I still worried though.

Pulling out the sad contents of those three boxes, I pictured him holed up in his cabin, sitting on his couch and staring at nothing with a half empty bottle of bourbon hanging in his hand. What I wouldn't give to see it in person, him half naked and drunk. Maybe he'd kiss me then, with his senses dulled and his guard down. Maybe he'd let me crawl onto his lap, straddle it while I cuddled, and kissed him all better.

I could almost feel his lips.

I could almost feel his hands, as the thoughts warmed me, running ice-cold when I pulled out a little, cardboard box addressed to one, Mr. Benjamin Chaney.

I didn't remember packing it.

I didn't remember packing anything, to tell the truth; drunk off the Vanilla Stoli we had stashed in the cabinet above the kitchen sink.

The whole night was a blur. How I even got to Aunt Sue's still remained a mystery.

But finding them tangled up in the eight-hundred thread count, Egyptian cotton sheets his mother had just bought us as an early, wedding present … now, that was as clear as this crystal, fucking day.

It didn't seem right that the sun was shining, casting its light through the open window, as I ripped the box open, and pulled out what was inside. Un-wrapping the cloudy, white shot glass from the encircling, bubble wrap, I popped a few, as I read the glazed, pearl writing.

_Mr. & Mrs. Chaney_

_May 25th 2013_

Turning it around, I stared at the back.

_till_

_Forever_

The glass was still sticky from where I had last used it, and I found myself wishing I had a bottle of something, anything that would get me good and drunk enough to forget.

Pushing up off the floor, I took the glass with me into the kitchen. I rinsed it off, filling it up with what remained in my bottle of water to let it sit and soak, before grabbing my purse, and keys, and heading out the door.

I wasn't sure where I was going when I jumped into the car, spinning my wheels as I sped down and out of the gravel drive. I had been driving for a while, passing nothing but trees and thrashing ocean, stupidly taking the winding roads too fast.

As I passed a cliff, I fishtailed, letting off the gas, scared straight to my senses, before coming to a rolling stop on a pull-off, along the side of the road.

Chest heaving, I tried to catch my breath, tried to slow my heart, as I watched the rolling waves of the ocean, and the one, lone surfer riding them.

I didn't want to die.

Even though I felt like I was, I didn't want to.

I wished I'd never met Angela Webber, wished I'd never known how it felt to lose someone who you thought was a true friend felt.

Losing Ben stung, but losing him to the person I lost him to, it broke me.

It broke something inside of me that I was adamant could never be fixed; not by her, not by him, not by traveling nearly three thousand miles across the country after blindly purchasing a time consuming, fixer-upper, and especially, not by a man that was too fucked up to even kiss me.

It was stupid of me to come here, to waste so much money on something I wasn't sure I even wanted.

Grabbing the GPS, I powered it on, waiting patiently for a signal as I watched the surfer cut and weave, making gliding on water look so carefree and easy.

Once the screen directed me to select my destination, I typed in liquor, not too upset when I found the closest store was a little over twenty miles away. I could use a drive.

Taking one more glance at the lone surfer, I pulled back out onto the road, easily finding my way to Clallam Bay.

It was late afternoon before I got back, since I took off well before nine, and the liquor store didn't open until two.

What kind of liquor store didn't open until two?

The small town kind, that's what.

I couldn't really complain, though, taking in the sites of the quiet, coastal community. That long walk along the harbor had been relaxing; the salty scent blowing off the ocean with the warm, summer breeze; the seagulls squawking as they swooped down to scoop up a fish, and then soar across the shimmering waves of water.

It was soothing; more soothing than I'd realized as I pulled up and parked, my shoulders tensing when I saw Edward's truck was still missing.

Grabbing the brown, paper bag out of the passenger seat, I hurried inside, stashing it under the kitchen sink before Jasper came through the door shortly behind, telling me that they were done.

Finished.

And that Edward had no reason to come back here, now that the job was complete.

He didn't say that, but that's what it meant.

It also meant that I had water, real, ready, running, hot and cold water.

"Give 'er a try," Jasper encouraged with a smile.

Looking from the sink to him, then back to the sink again, I turned the handle, watching the clear spray, before testing the temperature.

It was perfect.

"Perfect," I voiced, giving him a nod and pulling out an envelope from one of the drawers, handing over the rest of what I owed him.

It was an awkward goodbye as he stood silent for a beat, mouth open, looking like he wanted to, but shouldn't say something.

I guess he decided against it, as he flashed me another crooked smile, turning towards the door.

"See ya 'round, Bella, sure Alice'll be in touch."

"Make sure she calls first," I yelled out, before the door clicked shut, and I was left to one of my less flattering vices – getting utterly shit-faced.

**_BCR_**

Three shots in, I was feeling pretty warm, and not much affected anymore by the writing on the turned-over party favor.

But that didn't mean I wanted to look at it.

With the fifth of cheap, Vanilla Vodka hanging loosely in my hand, I picked up the glass, heading out the opened, back door and into the moon lit field.

I didn't need this fancy, piece of shit to get drunk.

I didn't need it at all, I decided, chucking it as hard as I could toward the swaying tree line at the edge the property.

Breathing heavily, I brought the bottle to my lips, swallowing my tears along with the sweet burn of the liquid.

See.

I didn't need it.

Turning back towards the house, I stumbled inside, taking another long swig, before coughing and sputtering, holding my chest until the pain subsided, and then took another.

And just like everything, else when you're good and drunk, the idea of spackling seemed like the best thing there was to do. So, fishing out the tub of spackle and my plastic spreader, I set to it, filling what holes I could.

If you thought about it, liquor was a lot like spackle; filling you up and making you seem whole. At least, it did while the effects lasted, which wasn't all that long. So, I guess in retrospect, liquor was nothing like spackling.

You couldn't consume it.

You couldn't clean wounds with it.

_But you could patch them!_

Giggling at my own idiotic thoughts, I made my way around the room; resting every so often to take a small swig, trying not to think about Edward, trying not to let my imagination get the best of me. But all I could think about was him seeking comfort somewhere else, lying in the arms of another woman, not hesitating to take her lips with his. And the more I thought about it, the angrier I got.

I wasn't sure what time it was, or how long I'd been at it, thinking everything was over and done between us, when he finally walked through my front door, looking tired and tortured.

God help me, I wanted to go to him.

I wanted to comfort him, and hold him; love him, and make him forget all the pain that was feasting on his insides. The darkened skin under his pleading eyes called to me, begging me to do something, anything to take it away.

But how was I supposed to do that, huh?

How was I supposed to do that while filled with all this bitterness and rage?

I couldn't.

"Where were you?" I mumbled, like some pissed off housewife, looking away, and turning back to my spackling.

"Surfing."

His hushed answer caught me off guard and I spun back toward him, nearly toppling over, before catching myself with the chair molding on the wall.

"Surfing," I clarified, making sure the alcohol in my system wasn't affecting my hearing as much as it was my balance.

Giving a curt nod, he looked down at the ground, and I turned away, spackling over the spackle.

"I wouldn't have taken you for a surfer," I mused, chuckling with a hum, before he spoke again, bringing my amusement to a halt.

"Used to all the time, before …"

Dropping the plastic spreader to hang at my side, I let it fall to the ground.

This was it.

This was the moment he was going to open up to me, and I was going to be too drunk to remember it, too gone to even comprehend.

But I still wanted to hear it.

"Before …" I hedged, desperate to hear it, to hear him, anything he had to say.

Anything.

He nodded. "Before."

That was all he had to offer, standing there, staring at the ground, acting nothing like the man I'd come to know, only … I never really knew him at all.

Taking another long drag of liquid courage, I sat the bottle down on the floor, stepping closer as I spoke.

"You wanna know how I was _before?"_ I asked, dipping down to try and catch his eyes.

"I was happy," I started, offering a genuine smile, "had a family and friends … a fiancé."

That word caught his attention, and his jaw tensed as his green eyes darted up to mine.

"But then my dad died, and my best _friend _slept with my fiancé, who in turn took all the others with him when we broke up."

Placing, my hands against his hard chest, I pushed him up against the door.

"I don't want to remember before," I confessed, pressing the rest of my body against his, looking up and into the darkening green of his eyes.

"Help me forget."

* * *

Could somebody hand me a comb? 'Cause that's what I'm doin' – teasin' ;) Ha!

I flove you all, especially when you talk back to me. I enjoyed hearing your dirtest of dirty *grins* Now I want to hear your saddest of sad :( Talk to me.

And don't forget to put the DirtyTalkinEdwardContest on alert - Me and Hood went and got ourselves completely filthy. We're absolute messes. Right, Hood?


	10. The day after

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Beta'd by SunflowerFran3759.

Mistakes are my own.

Thanks to my Hoodie, Hoodfabulous for her always helpful input and being a creepy, voyeuristic perv. My typing - she likes to watch ;) kisses

* * *

**The day after**

Rolling away from the penetrating glare of the sun, I lightly groaned, reaching out to find his side of the bed still warm, a slight indentation still pressed into the sheets.

But then I remembered that I wasn't in Jackson, I wasn't in our bed, and this wasn't his side anymore. It wasn't his heat warming the palm of my hand.

It was Edward's.

_Shit!_

Jolting up in the bed, I grabbed my head, my vision blurring and my stomach stirring from the leftover vodka my system couldn't absorb.

I needed food - a plate full of nutritiously, absorbent carbohydrates. But just thinking about it made me silently heave, as I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat there, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

Surprisingly, I remembered a lot; more than I thought I would, being as drunk as I was. And with a particularly embarrassing flash of the horrifying way I acted last night, I let out another dry heave, holding my pounding head in my shaking hands as I fruitlessly retched in the direction of the poor, unsuspecting floor.

The dried-out oak didn't deserve this; but if it was happening, it was happening right here, right now.

I hated vodka, I thought; especially vanilla, while I gagged on the memory, the aftertaste still lingering with the ripe scent of rotting animal carcass.

_Goddamn._

The cool wood felt good on the bottom of my feet though, helping to sate the evil trying to expel itself from my empty belly.

My body paid for it everywhere; my limbs aching with every slight movement.

I couldn't do this anymore.

I couldn't get upset over shot glasses and broken dates, or the empty promises that were made in intimacy, but never truly meant anything.

Not to him.

And maybe, but just a little, not to me.

This was a painful lesson learned, a painful realization to make.

I couldn't drink my troubles away anymore, not if I didn't have at least a whole week's rest in which to fully recuperate from the after effects.

I was old, too old to be acting this way. And if I didn't already look foolish enough by going off the deep end and getting white-girl-wasted, I had sealed the deal by dropping my load on his doorstep. Well … if you wanted to get technical about it, my front doorstep, where he solemnly stood, intently listening.

And he really listened.

His eyes never left mine as I rehashed all the bad, just wanting to feel good, so, so good, and he was the only one that could help me.

He had to know that.

He was the only one that could help me forget.

_Fuck._

Shaking my head, I groaned.

Big mistake; as big as the many I had made last night.

_Stupid._

At first, I kindly asked him, drunkenly gauging his reaction and taking it as a sign to proceed.

_So stupid._

Squeezing my eyes shut, I folded further into myself, remembering how I'd groped and grabbed at him, clawed and climbed my way up his reluctant body.

Overheated and dizzy, I was desperate for him, his lips, something I needed that he wouldn't give me.

What was so wrong with me, huh?

What was so wrong with me that I didn't deserve that much?

Finally pulling away, I shot him a glare; and if looks could kill he would have surely been a dead man.

Goddammit, vodka could make me mean.

_"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"_ I shouted, pushing him against the door, not stopping once his back hit the heavy oak.

_"Why won't you kiss me?!"_ I asked, not bothering to lower my voice.

I was bent; bent on liquor and loss and this unshakeable longing.

It was killing me.

He was killing me.

_"Answer me!"_

When he didn't answer, I pushed him again, shoving my hands into his hardened muscle; justifying the anger I couldn't see through as I balled my fists, pulled them back and drove them forward, repeatedly pounding them against his chest.

And he took it.

God love him, he took it all; the pushing and the yelling, the tears of pain and rejection, all of my unspoken frustration and lack of understanding.

Not holding back, I unleashed all of Hell's fury onto him.

And he just took it.

Distracted by the inexcusable things I said and did last night, I didn't even hear him come in. I didn't even feel him approach until he gently placed his hand on my back causing me to sober and stiffen.

Quickly standing, I lost my balance, stumbling sideways and then forward, right into his arms; the same arms that finally stopped me from wailing on his poor chest. They were just as warm as they were last night, holding me tight, picking me up when I could no longer stand, and carrying me into the bedroom.

Closing my eyes, I turned my head away from him, trying not to defeatedly sigh in his face.

I was pretty sure I had begged him to stay.

"Did you mean it?"

His grip was firm as he spoke, causing my brow to wrinkle, and my head to pound as I racked my brain, trying to figure out what he was talking about.

_Oh, God._

_Had I told him that I wanted to bear his bearded babies?_

_Did I actually say that out loud?_

I didn't think my heart could beat any faster, didn't think it could pound any damn harder as I looked up into his eyes, realization dawning with his anxious gaze.

_"Help me forget."_

He almost looked hopeful.

"Yes."

Of course, I meant it; my voice cracking from the dryness in my throat, and maybe a little from the nervousness I felt, the nervousness he always made me feel.

I was constantly afraid I would end up spooking him or scaring him off, not even realizing what I had done wrong until it was already too late.

But worrying about him not coming around was worse than knowing he wasn't coming around at all, right?

Right.

So yes, I meant it.

Holding my gaze for just a beat longer, he let go with a nod; silently leaving me standing there as he turned and walked right out of my room.

Dumbfounded, I didn't move until I heard him shut the door of his truck, realization setting in that he was leaving.

_Was he actually leaving?_

Propped on the tips of my feet, I quickly made my way to the front door, peeking out and then backing away from the side window when I saw him coming back up the stairs. Torn between running back to my room or making a break for the kitchen, I ended up just standing there, staring at the door as he walked back through it.

Looking up he caught my open-mouthed gaze. A small smirk gave way, its only real sign, a small crinkle at the corner of his lowering eyes. I took advantage of his amused shyness, taking in his smooth movement, how his hand softly splayed over the dark oak door, gently shutting it.

I didn't think I'd ever get over it, the way he so casually came and went. It was almost like he belonged here, all comfortable and cool as he turned back towards me, scratched his jaw, and then ran his healing hand down the length of his beard.

"I thought you left," I confessed, looking down, crossing my arms over my chest as I toed a fascinating dent in the floor.

I didn't look back up until I heard those thick soles loudly approach, and saw his booted feet staring up at me.

My line of sight followed his work-weathered hand as he held out a bottle of generic pain relievers and caused my heart to flutter in my chest.

He was always taking care of me.

Always.

Even when he most likely needed to be cared for more.

God, I was so selfish.

_Stupid._

Tears welled in my eyes, but I swallowed them down even more ashamed of the way I treated him last night.

He had needed me.

I knew he did.

And I had let him down.

Given the circumstances, this action bordered along the lines of too sweet.

It was way too sweet of him; everything he'd done for me had been way too sweet of him, and I almost couldn't stand it; couldn't understand it.

Instead of questioning his reasoning like I wanted to, I simply said, "thank you," grabbing the bottle and nodding my pounding head for him to follow.

Once in the kitchen, I went to pull out a glass from the cupboard, but he stopped me. Circling his fingers around my wrist, his calloused thumb lightly swept over my skin as he took the glass from my hand, jerking his head toward the table.

"Sit."

The butterflies approved of his demanding, deep voice, flitting and fluttering along the lining of my stomach as I did as he said, pulling out a chair and taking a seat.

I watched as he moved around my kitchen like it was his own, going straight for the bread and placing two slices in the toaster.

It was almost comical watching this rugged man butter toast. I smiled as he licked some excess from this thumb, and cut four pieces, corner to corner, just like my gran used to do; only she would flip them and turn the crumbling triangles into edible wings.

Those wings … they were nothing compared to the ones fluttering around inside of me, tickling; a teasing reminder of the effect this man had on me.

The effect he had on all of me.

Take his muscle, for example, how it flexed, balling under his tanned skin with every, single move he made. Or his eyes, how they were starting to lighten, only darkening a deep, pine green when his want had hit its peak. But most of all it was his mouth, the ever unattainable taste of his lips and the covering of coarse hair that had grown around them. It only made them more pronounced.

More noticeable.

More inviting.

I wanted to be invited.

Straightening in my chair, I averted my gaze while he walked over; my thoughts still very much set on his mouth as he placed the plate and glass on the table, motioning for me to take a couple of the pills before he sat directly across from me.

Opening the bottle, I downed two with one, large gulp, and sat the glass back down; waiting for what, I didn't know.

"Eat."

Picking up a piece of the thoroughly buttered bread, I placed a corner in my mouth, making the mistake of looking up and catching his smirk, just as I bit off the first delicious bite.

I turned my head as I chewed.

The silence would have been deafening if not for the muffled noises I was making.

God, I must have sounded like a starved pig at supper time, snorting and sniffling all over its slop. At least, that's what it felt like as I chanced a glance up, catching his unwavering gaze fixed on me … on my mouth.

Feeling the unmistakable heat of his hand, I stopped mid-chew, my brows rising as it slid down the back of my calf, gripped my ankle and lifted my leg to settle my foot in his lap.

Chewing commenced, I quickly swallowed, closing my eyes as his thumb pressed into the aching arch.

Fuck, that felt good.

Firmly sliding his thumb down, he snuggly cupped my heel, making circular motions with his long, lithe fingers.

Leaning back, I gave into the sensation, shamelessly moaning as he worked his way back up, pressing firmly into the arch again, before running his thumb along the top, right below my toes.

I could feel my headache slipping away as I sunk further into the chair, hardly noticing when he switched feet, giving the other the same amount of tenderness and attention.

It wasn't until he actually stopped, placing both hands on top of my feet that I opened my eyes, discreetly checking for any signs of escaped slobber.

I breathed a silent sigh of relief when I found that there wasn't any.

"Go somewhere with me."

It wasn't exactly a question, but he didn't sound all that demanding either, not like he had before.

"Where?" I could've kicked my own ass for even asking.

Did it really matter where?

No.

No, it didn't.

Not when Edward was the one wanting to take me there.

"The beach."

.

.

The drive to the Rialto was nerve wracking, to say the least, since Edward and I didn't talk. And I didn't feel comfortable enough to request that he turn on the radio, which could have possibly helped cut a good portion of the tension.

It got even worse when we pulled in to park.

Climbing out of the cab of the truck, I walked around to the bed. I waited for him to tell me how I could help as he grabbed the plain, white board, making his way out toward the choppy ocean.

Slowly making my way through the rocky sand, I came to stand behind him, watching as he did whatever he was doing to get the board ready, trying not to freak out.

When I had told him to help me forget, I had meant it.

When he asked me if I meant it, I had.

But I didn't do the ocean.

Looked at it, yes.

Waded out and into it, no.

Never.

Not a damn chance.

Just because I grew up by the ocean didn't make me a water baby. It wasn't like I didn't know how to swim, I did. It's just that I prefered it be in the safety of a pool, where I could clearly see the bottom.

I wished for rain as the sun shown down on us in a seemingly mocking way; its bright beam, I imagined, was God's middle finger.

I never was the believing sort, but that day I prayed; prayed the creatures that lurked just beneath the surface would stay hidden.

Out of sight, out of mind, I reminded myself, finding courage in the movement of Edward's muscles, the sinewy stretch of his broad shoulders as he lifted his shirt up and over his head.

If anything could make me believe, it would be him.

Only him.

And all of his muscle.

Damn.

Lost in the way his long, black board shorts hung low, hitting right at the rounded top of his backside, I didn't realize he was headed for the water until he turned and motioned for me to follow him.

I could feel the sickness in the pit of my stomach returning as I took a few quickened steps to catch up, walking next to him until we hit the edge of the water.

"I, uh … I've never done this before," I confessed, my voice sounding a little shaky.

"Surfing?" He asked, setting the board in front of us to block out the sun, so he could look down at me, most likely seeing the fear in my eyes.

Licking my lips, I cleared my throat, "I've never been in the ocean."

His face giving nothing away, I felt his fingers slide along the palm of my hand, lacing themselves in between my own.

A perfect fit.

He didn't ask if I still wanted to go, didn't ask if I would just rather turn back; instead, leading me out into the rippling water, tightening his grip as I tightened mine.

The sensation was nothing like I'd ever felt before, the rough grain of the sand rubbing against my skin, swishing and swallowing my feet with every step I took.

Once up to my shoulders, I lost all sense of self control, imagining the worst as I pulled him closer, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his waist. There was no way I was letting go, no way I could let go.

Not happening.

No.

No way.

There was no doubt that he could feel me trembling as he wrapped an arm around me, holding me just as tight as I held him.

Closing my eyes, I threaded my fingers into his hair, trying to focus on the heat of his breath, how it blew down my neck and across my shoulder. My breath hitched when I felt his lips come to rest where the two met.

His warmth was soothing, and he let me take my time, only loosening his grip when I loosened mine. I wasn't sure how long we were out there before I felt comfortable enough to actually let go, let him help me up onto the board, and for him to be out of my line of sight.

Barking out orders, he was encouraging with his touch; a finger down the length of my arm or a hand lightly wrapped around one of my ankles. He was constantly touching me wherever, and, as often as he could, making me smile silly when he wasn't looking.

I only made it up onto my knees that day.

The sun was setting quickly, and I was getting antsy being able to see less and less of the water surrounding us.

Pushing me to shore, he helped me up, never letting go of my hand while he dragged the board along the sand with the other, propping it against the large rock as I bent down to grab a towel from my bag. Handing him one, I went to grab the other, but he stopped me, and pulled me closer to wrap it around my shoulders.

From what I could see, his eyes roamed where his hands did, drying and wetting me all at the same time.

One look into his eyes and I knew he could tell what he was doing, earning himself a small gasp as his thumb lightly grazed over my hardened nipple, his hand traveling back up my chest and behind my neck.

Tugging the string of my top, he loosened the tie, causing it to fall and fully expose my breasts. I didn't stop him as he lowered his head, wrapping his lips around the nipple his thumb had just teased. The heat of his mouth warmed the freezing flesh of my chest as he pushed me up against the large rock, roaming from one breast to the other.

My lidded eyes scanned briefly for any unseen passer-bys, fully closing when I found none.

His warm hands felt glorious gliding down my cold sides to hook under the string of my bottoms, pulling them down and off as he dropped to his knees.

I automatically spaced my feet, spreading for him as he spread me with his fingers, allowing his tongue to dip inside and slowly slide up to flick my clit. Jerking, I tightened my muscles, pushing further into his face as he teased with long, wide licks, switching between dipping in and out of my entrance and circling the swollen flesh where I ached for him most.

My whimpers only spurred him on; my moans encouraging as he focused more and more on my clit. It throbbed for him, the speedy flick of his tongue, and his quickened, heated breath.

The scratch of his jaw against my inner thighs combined with the soppy wet sound he was making with his mouth caused my knees to buckle and my body to quake. I looked down, just catching a flash of the setting sun on the wet flesh between my legs and the side of his slippery tongue.

I watched as his free hand loosened the tie on his shorts, opened the flap and pulled himself free. Tangling my hands in his hair I pushed into him harder, feeling the heated tingle in my toes as it spread up, warming the coiling pit of my stomach. I continued to watch as he hurriedly jacked himself, moaning out my release, and clenching around nothing before his tongue was gone.

Easily he stood, sliding right into the hollow space, elongating my orgasm as he thrust in deep, pulled out and then thrust again.

I was so wet, so excited as he swiftly filled me over and over, mumbling out obscenities into my turned jawline. Too caught up in the moment, I took a chance rubbing my cheek against his, feeling the familiar coiling in my stomach as he let me, resting his forehead against mine. This wasn't the closest I'd been, but it was the longest he'd let me linger, breathing in his labored breath, seeing the deepening crease in his brow. I was so close to coming again, so close as he jutted his hips forward, grunting against my lips, before pulling out and away, spurting hot streams of come all over the abandoned space between my legs.

Both panting, we watched the warm, white fluid run down the inside of my thighs before he kneeled in front of me. Picking up the used towel, he wiped me clean, and then helped me step back into my bottoms. I smiled as he slid them into place, and then stood to fix my top, taking his time tying the strings securely at the nape of my neck.

We stood there and stared for a beat longer, his proximity and the throbbing between my legs a constant reminder that he was just inside of me.

Jesus.

So deep inside of me.

Rubbing my thighs together, I finally looked away, ducking around him to gather our stuff. Edward grabbed the board and then my hand, threading our fingers back together again as he led me to the truck.

The ride home wasn't as awkward as it was uncomfortable, the throbbing between my legs still making its need perfectly clear.

I was still worked up from watching him nearly get off inside of me when actually I should've been a little worried, not being on birth control or anything. Before this, there was no need.

Wiggling in the seat beside him, I stared out the window at the passing pine trees making a mental note to find a doctor and get a prescription ASAP. At the rate we were going, I'd say we would be doing a lot more of what we just did, and I didn't take him for a hold-on-a-minute-let-me-grab-some-protection, kind of guy.

Edward was spontaneous.

Maybe a little bit dangerous.

Definitely exciting.

Pulling up to the house, he came to a stop, putting the car in park As I grabbed the handle, I didn't know what to say as he cut the engine, looking along the length of my naked thigh. I hadn't bothered putting my shorts back on, too flustered to even really think.

Did he want to come in?

Before I could even open my mouth to ask him, it was if he had sensed what I needed, grabbing me by the knee, and spinning my bottom in the seat to spread my legs out in front of him.

One foot propped on the back of the seat, I set the other on the dash, biting my lip hard as he leaned forward to kiss my covered mound. A whimper escaped as he pulled my bikini bottoms to the side, flicked my swollen clit with the tip of his tongue and easily slipped two fingers deep inside, given that I was still soaking wet from the first orgasm of the night.

Throwing my head back, I hit it against the window, not caring as I freely rode his stiff fingers, and the firm, warm slickness of his tongue. I was so worked up over watching him shoot out those long, hot spurts of come all over me, that I was quickly coming myself, clenching around the fullness of his fingers, and writhing shamelessly against his buried face.

I jerked as his head remained buried between my legs, his tongue darting in and out of my entrance, licking and tasting the evidence of my body's response to him. He groaned as I pulled away, covering me with another soft kiss to my mound.

Straightening, he wiped what remained of me off his bearded chin, wiping it onto his shorts as I righted myself in the seat.

"Ten tomorrow," he grunted, turning the ignition and starting up the truck.

"Be ready."

Giving a silent nod, I pulled the handle, pushing open the heavy door and carefully sliding out. His bright headlights illuminated my path up the steps, where I cast him one, last glance over my shoulder before slipping inside. He sat in the driveway, his old truck sputtering until the door was closed and locked safely behind me.

Leaning against it, I thought of what I should have done, like grab the bag I left sitting on his floorboard; all the things I should have asked, like where we were going and what I should wear.

But most of all I thought about what I should have said.

Hitting him the night before was inexcusable, my behavior bordering on psychotic, and he didn't deserve it.

I should have been the one comforting him.

We should have comforted each other.

And I should have told him.

I had so many opportunities, yet took none of them to tell him that I was sorry.

Sorry he had to see me at my worst.

Sorry he'd probably never get to see me at my best.

CIosing my eyes, I banged the back of my head lightly against the hard oak.

I was just ... sorry.

* * *

It may be a couple weeks for the next update. Not only am I busy trying to fix a broken house, my laptop has taken on an I'll-zoom-whenever-the-fuck-I-want kind of mentality. So, I'm going to go douse it in some water that's finally running.

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate you all so, so much, you don't even know! And I'm trying harder and harder to get back at each of you individually for making me silly smile like you guys do :D


	11. Better ways to suffer

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Beta'd by SunflowerFran3759.

Mistakes are my own.

Hoodrat pre-read and approved ;)

* * *

This chapter is dedicated to Caligirlmon aka Monica Solis ;) Thanks for the picspiration!

* * *

Better ways to suffer

Lining the shoes up beside the front door, I contemplated which to wear; the flip flops, the Keds, or the never-ever-used, hiking boots.

To be honest, I didn't know why I had them. I never went hiking. Ben never went hiking. No one I knew ever went hiking. But still, there they were brown and ugly; no doubt they'd look ridiculous paired with my signature, cutoff shorts.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I sucked on my bottom lip, toeing on a flip-flop, and then kicking it back off.

At the very least, I should've asked him where we were going. I really didn't want to pack another bag filled with all my just-in-case-I-need-it layers. I didn't want to look high maintenance, 'cause I wasn't; far from it, in fact. So far from it, that I hardly wore make-up; a blessing in which my grandma always said I could thank her good genes for.

Looking over my shoulder, I glared at my stuffed duffle, cursing my grandma, and what little grasp she had on the notion of packing lightly. It didn't exist to her, therefore, didn't exist to me, and this was an impossible decision to make, I decided; my ears perking up with the pop of gravel under the weight of his tires.

Everything inside me instantly lit on fire; certain parts burning hotter than others as the excitement bounced around, dropping from my heart to my stomach to settle somewhere in the vicinity between my legs.

Suddenly, I was sixteen all, over again, going on the first date that I wasn't quite ready for. Only back then I had my dad to stall, which didn't necessarily help the situation, more like hindered it. Turned out, no boy of any age liked being threatened with guns and serious jail time.

The sound of his door slamming startled me, and brought me back to the task at hand.

Shoes, right.

I was being ridiculous, overthinking it.

_Just pick a pair!_

He did this to me; just the thought of him did this to me; made me indecisive and stupid.

And the thought of what he did being done again …

Sucking harder on my bottom lip, I tried not to think about it, which was impossible. All I could do was think about it. I was pretty sure he'd turned me into a dude - and by me, I meant my mindset. I was constantly thinking about sex.

Constantly.

But not just any sex.

Sex with him.

A lot of sex with him.

Peering out the window, I took in his outfit, which gave away no clues as to where we were going. He was always in a snug, black or white tee - today it was white - paired with his light-wash jeans; the ones that were faded and worn at the knee - my favorite. The same, old boots covered his feet. We could've been going anywhere, given he'd even worn those to the beach.

Grabbing a light jacket, I pulled it on over my tank, deciding that I was not going to wear the hiking boots. I couldn't. I didn't have long enough socks, and this wasn't the nineties.

Keds it was.

The knock on the door shot me into action, and I went for the side zipper on my bag, pulling out a pair of ankle socks. I just slipped on the second shoe when I realized he'd actually knocked …

I couldn't decipher if this was a good thing or a bad thing as I pulled open the front door to let him in, hoping to God he hadn't seen me standing there staring at him through the window.

"Hey," I greeted, a small smile pulling at my cheeks.

He shyly smiled back, dropping his green eyes to the ground, before running them back up, and all over me.

"Ready?"

His voice, always so deep and unexpected, making me silly, and I dumbly nodded my head; tripping over the sill, as I followed him out, and then locked the door behind me.

Just like the day before, he stopped by the passenger's side, and pulled it open. Only this time, he helped me in. Palming one cheek over my shorts, he effortlessly hoisted me up and into the cab. His heat was welcomed, but agonizing; making my eyes flutter shut as a calloused finger slightly skimmed some exposed skin; leaving me cold once he pulled away, and I turned to take a seat.

I steadied my breath, watching him walk around the front; sucking in deep and blowing out slow, distracting myself with the seatbelt while he climbed in.

His cedar scent was intoxicating, filling the greedy space of my lungs. He always smelled so goddamn good.

I hoped I'd never get used to it.

I hoped it would never lose its effect.

I didn't necessarily like feeling dizzy, but this was different; maybe how you'd feel if you were buzzed - not that I had any experience with that. But I could imagine. I could imagine this was how you felt - light and loopy, up for, and willing to do anything.

Anything.

He could tell me we were taking this baby for a nice drive over a cliff, and I'd probably just smile and say _'okay.'_

Turning the ignition, the Ford was a force to be reckoned with, bringing some serious horsepower, jerking me slightly forward, and out of my stupor as he reversed, flawlessly spinning the bed around to face the gravel drive.

Alright, so maybe I wasn't all that down with plummeting several hundred feet to our fiery deaths. I doubted that's what he planned on doing anyway, as I peeked at him out of the side of my eye, watching as the muscles in his forearms flexed and smoothed. He kept one hand on the gear, and the other on the wheel, shifting every so often, once we were out on the road.

I enjoyed watching him shift; liked the way his long fingers curled, cradling the balled end of his stick. His thumb lightly caressed the side, swiping over the top every so often; a completely innocent motion that I found highly erotic.

Did he touch himself the same way?

Did he cradle and coddle it like so, slowly spreading leaking precum over the tip?

I had never wanted to watch a man touch himself as much as I wanted to watch Edward. Hearing what noises he made while we were together, made me wonder if he made them while alone.

I would have liked to think he didn't; that the deep grunts and groans were for me, because of me, and how I made him feel; that he just couldn't help himself.

Glancing up the length of his arm, I admired the tight pull of his sleeve, before settling on his profile.

If he could feel the knowing pull of my stare he didn't show it, keeping his head faced forward, and letting me enjoy the view. It was better than the trees; better than the bosky, thick foliage growing all over and in between.

If I tried, I probably could have stared at him all day, just watching the small movement he sometimes made with his mouth. But I wasn't even given the chance, as we turned off the main road, and down a well-beaten path.

Pulling onto a grassy knoll, he cut the engine.

"Bear Creek Lake," he said, staring out at the blue-green wakes of rippling water, while I stared at him.

"Beautiful."

Nodding, he looked over, and I quickly looked forward, following his cue when he climbed out of the cab, taking my hand when we met at the front of the truck.

The high grass tickled my legs as he pulled me through the open field, and in the direction of the lake.

"My dad taught us to swim here," he offered, giving a little piece of himself to me. I ate it up, taking anything and everything I could get.

"Yeah?"

Pressing on, he nodded, a small smirk peeking from behind the thick, coarse hairs hiding half of his face.

I knew he was about to say something, tell me something important. I could feel it, as strongly as the disappointment that filled my pounding chest when a splash sounded from the lake. The echoed shouts from some unruly kids bounced off the surrounding rock, and just like that, he closed himself off again.

I didn't question where we were going as he changed our course and headed for the woods, letting him show me instead, seeing as his actions spoke so much louder than his words.

It was a sight to see - Edward in his element; the swift way he moved through the forest, ducking and dodging, steering me clear of low hanging branches, and pointing out probable tripping hazards - keeping me safe.

What did it say about my character that I felt completely defenseless in his presence; against him, against everything surrounding us?

He made me feel useless, but in the best possible way, like I needed to be taken care of, looked after, and cared for; like I deserved it.

It made me feel wanted.

Even though he couldn't quite give me _all_ that I wanted, or needed him to, I still felt him trying to convey it … that I was important.

If I wasn't positive he would push me away, I would have stopped him in his tracks, wrapped my arms around his neck, and kissed him breathless. It was all I could think to do, to make him understand how I felt.

I'd already come clean in a fit of drunken rage, an incredibly embarrassing debacle that we hadn't mentioned since, and most likely never would. I knew I needed to tell him I was sorry, but when? No time seemed like the right time, and I was afraid I would ruin it - what time we spent together.

He didn't seem all that put out by my behavior, doing as I asked with no qualms or questions, laid beside me long after I had passed out. He could have left at any time, and never came back, but he didn't.

He stayed.

He listened.

And when my tears ran out, he wiped them away, pulled me close, and held me.

Too caught up in my own thoughts, I stumbled over my own two feet, and back into those same, strong arms. Their instant warmth was inviting, tempting me to rest my hands on the bulk of muscle, and slide them slowly up, and around his neck. I had no idea how cold I was until his heat shot through me, softening my bones, and molding them to his.

Standing like this, so close and so quiet, I felt like I had every right as a lover, that I could lift up onto the tips of my toes and easily press our lips together, that he would have to let me.

Only he didn't.

I doubted he would.

And I didn't exactly want to find out here in the middle of the backwoods.

Lightly combing his hair, I loosened my hold, sliding my hands back down his arms to thumb bare skin. It pimpled under my touch, and he pressed his palms into my back, bending to place a kiss at the exposed hollow of my neck.

The beard was as scratchy as his lips were soft, slightly parting to lick, and lightly suck my skin. The sensation was unnerving, sending shock after shock to the center of my legs, its only relief pressing firmly against my stomach. This was making him as hard as it was me wet. So wet, I shivered, gasping as a gust of wind blew straight up the frayed legs of my shorts.

He pulled back.

"Wanna show you something," he said, pulling me out of the forest and onto a fresh, dirt road.

It was whimsical and portrait worthy, covered with a leafy, green archway, leading to the outlined structure of an unfinished house.

"Is this a house the company's building?" I asked, curious as to why he brought me here.

Did he expect me to help raise walls?

I hoped not.

"No, just me."

"Oh," I squeaked, feeling a fluttering deep inside my belly.

That was surprising.

… And incredibly manly, I thought, looking down at our clasped hands.

My stomach flipped again.

I could see a distinct difference in the size of our fingers. Every part of him was so big, making me feel so small and incredibly feminine. And all of a sudden all I could think about was sucking his cock.

"Who are you building it for?" I asked, trying my hardest not to drop to my knees in front of him, secretly hoping he'd say himself, and the family he planned on making with me. But that was a bit presumptuous. And closing my eyes, I blinked several times, not quite sure where in the hell the thought even came from.

"Can't live off Rose and Em forever." he shrugged, pulling me up the stairs, and onto the platform, leading me through the beams. I followed suit when he let go of my hand, and sat beside him on the wide, pine planks, hanging my legs over the smooth edge.

"I didn't realize it was theirs," I told him honestly; I never imagined it wasn't his, though I did wonder why he lived so close.

It was just … so him.

"Oh," he mouthed, his brows lifting slightly then furrowing. He dismissively looked away.

I watched him as he peered out into the surrounding woods, his brow permanently pinched in thought. My heart sank with how he must have felt, being left out to the point of being mistreated by his family. He obviously thought they spoke badly of him, if they did at all. Even his own friends hardly ever talked to him anymore from what I gathered from Alice. Besides Emmett and Jasper, no one ever came around to visit. And maybe that was what he wanted. Maybe that was what he strived for - to live a solitary and secluded life; breaking ties, before they could see how broken he actually was.

But then again, maybe not.

How long did they try to get through to him?

How hard did they push?

Hard enough?

If I were being fair, I couldn't jump to conclusions and put all the blame on them. I didn't know the whole story. I didn't know any of the story, I realized, when I actually sat down and thought about it. All I knew was that Edward had been to war - one waged by man, and the other by himself; you could tell in the hardened creases that lined his forehead. He carried somepretty heavy baggage.

He was hard to get close to, hard to read.

At least, he was now.

He was to me.

If I had to venture a guess as to how he felt when I first arrived, I would've said that he hated me - which was putting it lightly. And maybe he did. Maybe I was the only willing piece in this town; the only one who didn't know him well enough to know any better; the only one desperate and dumb enough not to turn him down.

Only, it didn't feel that way.

I didn't feel desperate.

I didn't feel dumb as my heart sped, and his tongue peeked out to wet parted lips.

"This is the bedroom."

.

* * *

.

Sitting at the dining room table, I stared at the cabinet below the sink; the one that held what remained of the numbing, Vanilla Vodka.

I didn't want to drink it, but I was going to.

For the first night since arriving, I felt like I didn't want to be here, like I didn't belong, like something was missing.

It pulled, whatever that something was, tugging me in the direction of the front door.

It knew where it wanted to be - my heart - beating fast and furious enough to nearly jump out of my chest.

I wondered if his felt the same way.

Did it beat against his ribs like a drum, the tempo so thunderous he thought it was going to blow, stop; just cease to flutter and thrum?

Being with Edward seemed as much of a want, as it did a need; and that scared me; scared my heart, my body, my soul; that I could feel him that deep.

I didn't want to drink it, but I was going to.

If I didn't get off my ass and go where I wanted to be, I was going to drink enough to flat-out forget where that was.

Remembering the last time I tried to forget, made me cringe, sending a sobering shiver up my back. And I stood, almost tasting it on my tongue, all sweet and sour and suffocating.

Grabbing my keys, I didn't even bother locking the door.

I didn't want to drink it.

There were better ways to suffer.

And suffer I did, the whole drive over, my thoughts replaying from earlier in the day.

_"This is the bedroom," he said, looking at me, his intentions as clear as the cracks in the leaf- littered sky._

_"Yeah?"_

_He nodded._

_"Yeah."_

_Feeling brave, I asked him where the bed was going to be, taking his hand so he could help me up and show me._

I could still feel his whiskers on my skin, the wind as it whistled through the trees, cooling the exposed wetness pooling between my thighs. My knees were still a bit tender from where the wood boards bit into them, reddening the skin.

But I wouldn't take it back; wouldn't forgo watching him grunt and curse, lose himself underneath my slick, spread heat - never, not even to get rid of this tolerable, dull pain.

Pulling up to his cabin, I didn't waste any time, jumping out and jogging up the stairs to rap on the door. If I thought about it I'd only turn around, I reasoned, mid-knock when it unexpectedly opened, and he was standing there - all beard, and plaid, sleep pants and bare chested.

_Fuuuck me._

Stepping aside, he motioned me in.

As I entered, my eyes stayed glued to him, shifting from his rock-hard stomach to his well-defined chest, turning in time to watch him close and lock the door.

Damn, his ass looked good in red, checkered flannel.

He didn't ask why I was there, turning back towards me, stripping me of my jacket, and taking my hand to lead me to the couch.

His place smelled different, more murky and pungent as if his usual musk had gotten wet, and grown a little moss. I knew what it was. I'd smelled it before, just never this strong. I wasn't sure if I should have been surprised by the burning joint sitting tableside or not, but I was.

"Can put it out if you want," he offered, his thumb lightly stroking my thumb, before sitting and pulling me down beside him.

Shaking my head, I shyly smiled.

"No, s-okay."

Nodding, he unclasped our hands, placing mine palm down on one of his parted, inner thighs, continuing to lightly stroke my skin with his thumb. It was all I could do just to watch in extremely turned-on wonder, as he pinched the rolled paper in his fingertips, picked it up and brought it to his mouth.

My eyes roamed from the suck of his straight-lined lips to the rise in his bare chest, then back up to his lips to see them part, slowly releasing the stored smoke.

It was incredibly intimate and sexy, the way his eyes drooped, watching his thumb as it lovingly stroked my hand that had started stroking him back at some point in this silent exchange of secrets - he smoked, and I liked it.

A lot.

Licking my lips, I adjusted uncomfortably in my seat, accidentally pressing the power button to turn on the T.V. The silence filling the room was replaced with low moans and groans.

_Wha-_

_Was he watching porn?_

Leaning over me, he reached for the remote, but I was quicker, pulling away, and placing it just out of his reach.

Groaning himself, he rested his forehead against my clavicle, the vibrations from his chest going straight to the space between my legs. It throbbed worse the longer I watched, the harder the man thrust. Edward's hot breath wasn't helping, blowing across my chest, and heating the bend of my neck.

His hand had since found its way up my thigh and under the hem of my shorts. His fingers teased and tormented, dipping under the edge of my panties, to find me soaked and ready.

"You like that?" I faintly heard him ask, sinking knuckle deep, and setting a new fire inside my stomach.

Biting my lower lip, I nodded, bucking against him, whimpering as he pulled out and placed his finger in his mouth, sucking my juices off with a pop.

Grabbing me by the elbow, he stood, pulling me up with him to tug on the hem of my tank. Raising my hands, I let him lift it up and over my head, causing my bra-less breasts to bounce and my nipples to perk. Covering one with his mouth, his hands went for the waist of my sleep shorts, pulling them, and my underwear, down with one, swift movement.

"Touch me," he ordered, switching to the other breast, latching on and sucking as I stroked him through the open flap of the thin flannel.

Rock hard and breathing heavily, he released me from his mouth, spinning me roughly and pushing me down, face-first onto the couch.

Resting my head on the arm, I tried to control my breathing; the rapid rate making me dizzy. Too dizzy to turn and look, I listened to the light shuffling of fabric while he hurriedly undressed.

My heart sped with the dip in the couch, my ragged breath audible while he adjusted my legs to fit between his on the narrow cushions.

I kept my eyes trained on the television, unable to turn and watch him, as he settled his weight on top of me, resting his hardened length along the crack of my ass. I pushed back as he pressed, rocking dry skin against skin.

The more he rocked, the lower he shifted, working his cock between my soaked, upper thighs.

Pulling back, he spread me apart, taking his time as he watched me writhe; lifting my hips from the cushions, needing him to fill the aching, hollow place between my thighs. My breathing sped, feeling the tip at my entrance, easing its way in; ceasing altogether as he slowly sunk inside, stilling once he was fully sheathed.

Moving my hair to one side, his mouth brushed the back of my neck; his soft, slow kisses leaving me breathless and dazed as his palm skimmed my ribs, dipping down to cup my mound.

The position was new and different; delectable, as he pushed deep, hitting just the right spot both in and outside of me.

I never thought I could come without my legs spread wide, feeling that vulgarity was somehow needed to excite and get me off. But that wasn't true at all, I found. All I really needed was the right cock; the right man who knew what to do, and how to use it.

Edward knew how to use it, pressing his hips flush with my backside, making short, hard thrusts while rubbing my clit with his buried hand.

Feeling the tingle spread from my toes, my hips automatically lifted, my forehead pushing against the arm of the couch.

Gripping the edge of the cushions, my orgasm hit me hard and fast, clenching the pit of my stomach, and racking its way up and across the plains of my back.

His thrusts came quicker, sloppy and stuttered, almost as if he was holding off, but couldn't; his low, guttural groans escaping as he shuttered and stilled, pulling out to ride his out against the crack of my ass, coming all over it in short, warm spurts.

Breathing ragged, he hovered just above me, dipping down to place soft kisses up and down my spine.

"Things are better," he breathed, "when you're here," kissing my shoulder, and nosing the shell of my ear.

My heart fluttered with his admission; dropping down into my stomach, the beat flourished and spread, warming me from the inside out.

_Things were better when I was here._

He had said that.

Albeit high, but he still had said it, and I smiled.

I smiled as he lifted himself, left his flannels in a pile on the floor, and trudged his way down the hall.

Very naked and free, he reemerged from the bathroom, returning with a towel, and cleaned me off; helping me sit up, before collapsing beside me, and pulling me close.

Cuddling up to him, I stroked his chest as he fingered the ends of my hair.

I loved the weight of him; how he held me down, giving and taking what both of us wanted; the way his arm draped heavily across my shoulders.

I even loved his pain; the troubled crease in his brow, as he asked me not to leave him.

_Never_ to leave him, to be exact.

_"Never."_

And I promised.

Straddling his lap, I promised; fought the urge to take advantage; fought the temptation to bend down and take his open, willing lips, as he sunk back in, filling me to the hilt; so deep.

"Never."

* * *

1-2 weeks for update, hopefully 1.

Sorry this one took so long. You still love me tho, right? *sad puppy dog eyes*

I still love you ;) I love all of you, especially when you talk to me!

Don't forget to check out the Dark and Twisted entries, voting will begin just in time for Halloween - my favorite holiday! search under writer: darkandtwistedcontest


	12. Pork and pills

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Beta'd by SunflowerFran3759.

Mistakes are my own.

Hoodrat pre-read and approved ;)

* * *

**Pork and Pills**

I woke up to the smell of bacon; the rousing crackle and pop of hot, stove top grease. Smiling, I shoved my nose into his pillow and breathed him in deeply. His sheets smelled better than bacon; clean and masculine; completely different from the way mine smelled. Mine didn't smell like anything, unless just freshly washed. And even then it was a generic detergent, whatever brand was on sale that week. I wondered if I even had a scent; if he shoved his nose into my pillow the way I was his; breathed me in and smiled the way I did - all giddy and light, wound-up and warm.

Turning back to my side, I rested my head against the gray, flannelled fabric that reminded me of his pants; how good he looked shirtless; confidently opening the door last night. My belly flipped with the memory; a new flood of fluid getting me wet and ready.

I felt insatiable.

I _was_ insatiable, turning onto my back and rubbing my thighs together, waiting for him to sense that he was needed in the worst possible way. But He never came; my stomach started growling, and I felt the sudden urge to pee.

Groaning, I slowly rolled out of the bed, padded across the cold, wood floor, and headed straight into the bathroom - still completely naked, and surprisingly okay with it. What I was not okay with was the cool wetness that still pooled, and ran down the length of my inner thighs.

Plopping onto the toilet, I looked down, trying not to freak out as I wiped the pearly, white fluid from my legs.

But my heart knew.

It knew my brain's worry and ran with its thoughts.

"Shit," I hissed, closing my eyes, trying to think of a solution. But right now; here, right now, there was none. What was done was done, and there was no getting around it.

So, what now?

A light tapping on the door made me jump, and I flushed, cleaning my hands quickly, before turning toward, and just standing in front of the door - naked. Looking down, I let out a silent sigh, palming my stomach. I didn't feel so sexy anymore.

Another tap and I heard a muffled _"You okay in there?"_

Pressing my hand flat against the grainy wood, I imagined how he would react if I told him; told him that we were careless and stupid, and I very well could be pregnant right now.

I imagined there'd be a lot of silence; a frown well hidden behind his fully bearded mouth, and then no doubt, more silence.

"Yeah, I'll just be a minute," I answered, not really sure if I was okay or not.

I didn't know anything about this man. Other than the fact that he was good in bed, learned how to swim in a lake, and liked having me around. I didn't know anything about him.

What if he hated kids?

What if he ended up hating me?

If he did hate kids, would I really care if he ended up hating me?

_What kind of man hates kids?_ I questioned, jumping to conclusions. Shaking my head, I checked myself, before spinning into a full-blown frenzy.

_Calm down, Bella, you're almost 30. Your eggs could be shriveled up and dried out for all you know. There's no reason to panic._

All I needed was to hotly stomp out there, demanding he tell me what was wrong with him, and why he didn't want to have children with me.

I waited until I knew he was gone, feeling that he was no longer standing there. Cracking the door, I made sure, before coming out, finding his bed made, and my clothes neatly folded at the foot. I took my time getting dressed, ran my fingers through the rats in my hair, then went out to find him; still shirtless, and in the flannel; the muscle in his arm rippling in time with the lazy scratch to the underside of his scruffy jaw.

He looked so domesticated, standing there and scratching, spatula in hand.

He often looked domesticated, if I really thought back on it, with all that he'd done, all that I'd seen him do. He was experienced and skilled, not only in the bedroom, but in all the rooms, even when it came to the outside of the house. I reckoned he even knew how to fix a car.

Feeling a little bit of that bravery I had lost, returning, I padded up behind him, lightly brushing his spine with the back of my fingers; smiling when he shivered. I placed a kiss on his bare skin, as high as my lips could reach, sliding both hands around his middle, and pressed into him from behind. The wide stroke of his palm was warm and welcome against my forearm, and I melted into him, resting my head against his back.

"Hungry?" he asked, the rare vibrations of his voice tickling my cheek. I nodded against his skin, giving him a tight squeeze.

"Starving," I clarified, before letting go, and sitting down at the dining room table.

I watched on as he pulled out two plates, and loaded them with the bacon, eggs, and toast he'd made. Two glasses were already sitting out for me; one filled with water and the other empty; a carton of orange juice, and a half gallon of milk sitting out on the side.

I almost laughed out loud.

He had thought of everything.

Unable to stop smiling, I picked up the orange juice and filled my second glass. I didn't know how long it had been since I had eaten a home cooked meal, probably sometime before my grandma had passed. My stomach grumbled with anticipation; heart stuttered remembering one of the last things she had said to me.

_"A hands-on man is an asset, Bella, a blessing. If he cooks, cleans, and can save you from spending your life savings on a mechanic, he's a keeper."_

That was right before she had made me promise not to marry Ben; a businessman who pressed his socks and folded his underwear.

She had hated him.

"Looks good, thank you," I praised, smiling up at him as he set a full plate down in front of me.

Taking the seat opposite of me, he wasted no time digging in, and I followed suit, starting with the eggs since they were always the first to cool.

The silence probably wasn't as awkward as my thoughts were making it to be; my gaze alternating from my plate to his bare chest. I refused to look any higher than that.

"I, uh …" I heard him stutter; startling my heart, as he cleared his throat and tried again.

"I don't do that all the time."

Forcing myself to look up, I found his bloodshot eyes focused on mine.

"Smoke," he clarified. "I don't smoke all the time."

Nodding, I broke off a piece of bacon and popped it into my mouth, not really sure what to say, not really sure what he wanted me to say, if he wanted me to say anything at all. Who was I to judge what he did in his free time? It obviously didn't affect his day to day doings, so no harm, no foul, right?

"I have bad days," he confessed quietly, sinking my heart with his gaze. It beat in the pit of my full stomach, as he stared down at his empty plate, a straight line forming on his hardened lips. I imagined his jaw drawn just as tight, his fists subtly clenching while they rested on top of the table. I understood bad days, had plenty of them myself, but they were nothing like his. My pain was nothing like his pain, violent and all-consuming. I revelled in mine, how trivial it was; giving thanks that I went through it and that it had changed me,that it pushed me to make this move and led me here, led me to Edward.

I wanted to go to him, comfort and kiss the bad away, but didn't. Instead, I pushed my plate across the table, smiling as he hesitantly took it, finishing off what I couldn't.

"You wanna talk about it?" I asked, a sudden flush heating the surface of my skin. My stomach tied in knots, pushing the undigested food back up into my throat.

_What if he says yes?_ I thought, breaking into a light sweat.

That was what I wanted wasn't it; for him to open up, let me in?

I wanted the story.

I'd wanted the _whole_ story ever since getting a glimpse at who he used to be; those bright, green eyes beaming back at me from the frame hanging on Alice's wall.

But was I ready for it?

Were we ready for it?

Were we even a 'we' to begin with?

Taking the last bite, he spoke out of the side of his mouth. "Maybe." He shrugged. "Sometime."

_Just not right now._

The unspoken words hung in the air, as we each briefly held the other's knowing gaze; both understanding what was meant, but left unsaid.

We weren't ready.

Not today.

Not for this.

Not yet.

_Not yet._

.

* * *

.

Standing in line at the pharmacy in Uley's Market, I watched my phone light up with the same, unnamed number as before, fighting the urge to answer it.

I wanted to.

In that moment of worry and indecision, I wanted, needed to talk to my best friend. But I didn't have one of those anymore. The only person I had to talk to was undependable, flighty, and too self-absorbed to care about anything but herself; placating her own conscience by feeding on mine. It hurt that Sue was so hard up for attention that she would take it wherever she could get it, and whoever she could get it from. I was sure Angela was showing her plenty; both blowing up my phone; probably sitting side by side, taking turns, and leaving alternating messages.

I didn't listen to any of them.

I didn't erase them either, which probably made me a little bit pathetic, because somewhere deep down inside of me, I wanted to listen. I wanted to forgive. I wanted to forgive them both, to forget all the bad they had done, and let the past be just that - the past.

Then again, other days, I didn't. I didn't want to talk to them. I didn't want to listen, and forgive. I just wanted to forget.

I wanted to forget that they ever existed.

The idea of throwing my phone out was getting more and more tempting. I could get a new number; shit, move to a different town even, 'cause there was Alice's face, smiling up at me.

My thumb hovered over the end button wanting desperately to push it. But I knew what ignoring Alice entailed. There was no avoiding her.

"Hey," I answered, before letting it go to voicemail, too afraid she'd just show up at the house later if I didn't. I'd warded her off for the past two days, telling her I was gardening, and if she really wanted to help she was more than welcome to come shovel manure.

Thankfully it worked out in my favor.

Moving down the line, I wasn't listening to a thing she had to say, unintentionally catching a random word here and there. Every conversation with Alice was the same; the only difference being if she happened to sell a house or not. But turned out the only house she sold in the whole three years she'd been a realtor was mine.

It wasn't as if she was hurting for the cash, she had more than enough being married to the only contractor within forty miles. She was just bored. I could tell. Her whole demeanor screamed for attention in the form of gossip and not-so-subtle hints of how Peter was taking my _unexpected_ brush off.

Please.

Unexpected my ass.

My eyes rolled over her words, and then roamed over the bottles of vitamins, landing on a twin packet of prenatals.

How much of a walking contradiction would I be if I bought a twin pack of prenatal vitamins, and the morning after pill in one purchase? Would I be the world's biggest asshole? How would that look? Would I be saying I didn't want this baby, but maybe the next? If I ended up taking the appropriately named "Plan B", did I deserve the next? … If there was a next … If there even was a now. I mean, I wouldn't, couldn't know for sure for at least another twelve to fifteen days, according to Wikipedia - I looked it up as soon as I got home this morning. But what if I was? Sometimes the pill didn't work. What if I took it, but ended up pregnant anyway? I would need the vitamins. I would have the vitamins, which would actually save me a trip to the store.

_Win-win …_

_Lose-win?_

This real life, inner turmoil, was too much; turning and tormenting, all while Alice considered growing out her hair, wondered if Practically Pink was really her color, and worried that she didn't feel bad enough for running over one of Mrs. Martin's cats.

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs; curse her for being so insensitive to the situation. But she didn't know the situation, so it really wasn't her fault. It was mine. Everything was my fault.

Everything.

Both my parents' deaths.

My fiancé's cheating.

If I hadn't been born, my mother would still be here, and my father wouldn't have been so reckless. If I could've kept Ben satisfied, he wouldn't have had to go out and get what he obviously wasn't getting at home. Not to mention, I could be carrying the bastard child of man who may or may not hate children. I didn't know, because I still hadn't asked.

I was this close to telling him before I left; _this_ close before Edward's phone rang. Still focused on my open mouth, he let it ring until I sewed my lips shut, smiling to let him know it was okay to answer. I breathed a sigh of relief when it turned out to be Jasper on the other end, asking Edward if he could help out with a last minute job. Why was it that one minute I was wanting him to confide in me, let me in to console him, and cure what troubles were ailing him, then the next minute I couldn't get out of there fast enough?

Biting my thumbnail, I moved further up the pity-party line.

_What if I can't save him?_ I feared, eyeing the pregnant woman on the package; her hands, how they cradled her swollen belly.

I wasn't sure if I was even built for it.

Motherhood.

… Salvation.

What if he didn't want to be saved?

What if he was comfortable with the quiet; horny, and just needing to get his rocks off till he didn't want me anymore?

Grabbing the vitamins, I tossed them in my basket.

Why the fuck not?

Might as well have done _something_ right.

All things considered; I could use some extra nourishment for my hair, nails, and skin. And while I was at it, I threw in some Calcium too. All these aches and pains in my joints were starting to bother me. I could feel myself getting older. I could see it in the growing lines that had etched themselves into the creases of my face.

"Alice, how old is your brother?" I blurted into the receiver, realizing I'd never asked that either. I could've been bedding a kid for all I knew.

_"Twenty-nine. Why?"_

I let out the breath I was holding; a year older, that was good.

"Uh, no reason really, just uh … checking out the horoscopes."

I gave myself an internal high-five.

_Nice save._

_"Don't you need the date they were born in order to read those?"_

Well, shit.

"Yeah."

Cringing, I pinched the bridge of my nose, asking for everybody's birthday, but committing only Edward's to memory. It took backing myself into a 'girl's day' in order to get off the phone. And as the older couple hobbled away, I stepped up to the counter.

Unable to find the words, I pulled my other purchases out of the basket while I worked up the courage. I wasn't sure what I was expecting when I quietly spoke, but it wasn't softness and understanding; kind, poppyseed eyes, sitting sadly above curved lips.

The clerk was quick to fill my request, handing over a stapled, paper bag, as her smile spread, showing me her silent support. The nod she offered wasn't so much dismissive, as it was encouraging; reassuring my mind, and the important decision it would ultimately make.

She didn't have to say it. I could see the words written all over her pretty face.

_It'll all work out in the end._

.

* * *

.

Sitting at the dining room table, I stared at the box; so small, and unassuming; its colors bright and beaming in purples, greens, and blues. The contents, however, was not as vibrant; the two, chalky white tablets imitating life while promising only death. It didn't seem right; the mock purity of it all.

They should've been black.

The box should've been black; adorned with a circled fetus with a red line slashed straight through the center of it. Then maybe one wouldn't be able to look at something like this so lightly.

How easy it would be just to pop them in my mouth. Two at a time; down them in one gulp.

No worry.

No second thought.

But all I could seem to do was think.

What if I did take these? Would that make me a bad person?

Looking down at my stomach, I touched the flat surface.

If I did have the start of something growing inside of me, would that make me a killer?

Was I willing to kill my own baby, imaginary or not?

Did I actually have that in me?

Taking a drink of warm, tap water, I wet my throat, trying to remember when I became such a sap.

I was overthinking it.

They were pills, just a couple of pills. What was the difference between these and a condom, or scheduled birth control? They were prophylactic, right? A last resort precaution for unwanted pregnancy.

Maybe I gained a new appreciation for life in my old age. Maybe the pang of loneliness I sometimes felt was weighing heavily. Maybe, just maybe it wasn't unwanted.

Leaning forward, I placed my head in my hands.

_I should tell him before I take it._ I thought.

_He should know._

It wasn't just my decision to make; I knew that. There were others to consider; not just me, not just him, but his mother, his father. Even Alice.

They would be its family too.

Groaning, I pressed the heels of my hand into my eyes.

_Look at you. You would be a terrible mother; already referring to the kid as 'it.'_

Pushing the chair out, I stood, and grabbed my glass; filling it with some more water, before placing it back on the table, and heading to the bathroom where I thought about it some more - which was stupid.

What was the point of having expectations; wondering who they would grow into, or picturing which one of us they would look like?

Washing my hands, I looked up at my reflection, hoping for his green eyes, and plump, full lips.

I shook my head.

Stupid.

I was taking them.

It would be better; better for everybody, I decided, walking back out to the kitchen to find the box still lying where I left it and Edward sitting on the chair I previously sat.

* * *

Have I left you guys hanging off a cliffy yet?

**PlanB does not cause a miscarriage or abortion. In other words, it does not stop development of a fetus once the fertilized egg implants in the uterus. So it will NOT work if you are already pregnant. **I know this. You may know this. But Bella does not know this, which isn't all that surprising. There's not much education out there, and unless you go searching for it yourself, you may _not be_ educated on it. I know I don't remember ever seeing a PlanB commercial, have you? These questions that Bella is asking herself are very realistic. I know since I work in healthcare. If you are in the same situation, or have further questions about a similar situation, please contact your doctor, an urgent care, or a planned parenthood facility.

Update 1-2 weeks.

Don't forget to check out the Dark and Twisted entries, voting will begin just in time for Halloween - my favorite holiday! search under writer: darkandtwistedcontest


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, situations, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Beta'd by SunflowerFran3759.

Mistakes are my own.

Hoodrat pre-read and maybe not so approved since she threatened me with bodily harm in front of all of our fb friends...

* * *

**Abstention for brunch**

I stood as still as a statue, watching him; the steady rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. If he could breathe, maybe I could too; just open my mouth and suck in some of the stuffy air.

It was palpable.

So poignant that I could almost taste it, smell it - the tension.

My heart skipped with the creak in his chair as it gave under his weight, and he placed his elbows on the table. His stance not stressed, but contemplative, he raked a hand through his wind-whipped hair, stopping to casually scratch at the underside of his jaw.

God, I loved it when he did that.

I loved it when he did most things. Hell, I loved it when he did anything; anything except leave. And given the seriousness of the situation, I knew there was a good chance that leaving was exactly what he'd do.

Past experience warranted it.

God knew he'd left for a lot less.

Walking on numb feet, I quietly padded passed, and took the seat opposite him; eyes trained on the proverbial elephant in the room.

I couldn't look at him.

Couldn't speak.

The explanation parked itself right on the tip of my tongue, and it wasn't about to budge. It was just as stubborn as me, just as stingy as him when it came to words.

He had opened up today; shared a part of himself, which was more than I had done; at least, sober anyway. What if this stunted our growth, destroyed all that little bit of progress we'd made; turned it into a one step forward, two steps back kind of deal?

I didn't want to think about it, but that was all I could do - let my thoughts try and drown out the silence. It was deafening; the sharp squeak of my seat teetering on the thin line between slightly annoying and overly obnoxious as I shifted.

Unbearable.

I willed him to speak, say something, anything. I wanted to know what he was thinking, how he felt … if he wanted me to take it.

What if he did?

What if he didn't?

Biting the edge of my thumb, I somehow found the courage to peek up, following his blank gaze back down, wondering if he actually knew what it was, what it did. I mean, I barely knew the mechanics of it, and I was a woman. But if he did know ...

Uncrossing my legs, I leaned forward and reached out for the box, jumping with the harsh scrape of chair legs skidding across the kitchen floor. He was quick to swipe it out of my reach, and I pulled back as if I were burned; heart pounding with the heavy soles of his boots as he stomped passed, dismissively tossing it into the trash.

"You don't need that."

Stomping right back passed, he forewent any explanation, walking right by the chair, through the front room, and out the door. And I was stuck in place, glued to my seat, my legs feeling too weak and shaky to follow.

I didn't need it.

_That's it?_

_What the hell does that even mean?_ I wondered, running hot and then cold, my stomach settling somewhere in the vicinity of my feet.

A plunder of thoughts ran through my mind, different things he could have meant; he couldn't have kids; he could have kids and wanted to; he could have kids and wanted to have them with me.

But how could he possibly know that? He didn't know enough about me, and the most he'd learned was from my spouting off at the mouth while intoxicated.

Maybe he liked that. Maybe he liked that I didn't talk, didn't share my feelings or pressure him into sharing his. Maybe this was what he wanted; some verbally absent relationship where he could go to work, come home at night and spread his seed. Like, some sexist_ 'me Tarzan, you Jane'_ kind of scenario. And I didn't know how I felt about that. I grew up with that. If it weren't for my grandma I probably would have lost all meaning for the phrase 'express your feelings', and ran around grunting all the time. God love the poor, old lady, she did her best, but I had no inkling of how to talk to a man. I had no idea how to talk to anyone; tell them my thoughts and feelings.

Ben had always been more forthcoming; actually verbalizing when something was bothering him. He was emotional, more in touch with that side of him than I was. So much so that you could say he acted more like the girl in the relationship.

I mean, it was one thing to have your emotions and voice them; it was another to keep them to yourself and all bottled up inside. How was it that I had gone from one extreme to the other? Wasn't there a happy medium? Was this a punishment? Was this how Ben felt whenever I'd shut down, ignore his pleas just to talk to him, tell him what I needed, wanted? Was this a taste of my own medicine?

If it was, it was goddamn bitter.

Slowly rising from the table, I dragged my ass to my bedroom, plopped down onto my unmade bed, and rolled up in the covers. I was too tired to go after him. I wasn't ready to go after him yet anyway; didn't know what I was going to say or ask beyond _'What did you mean by 'I don't need that?'"_

I'd ask him tomorrow.

* * *

_Tuesday_

Tomorrow came too soon, the sounds of the birds singing not as sweet as fairytales would have you believe.

I didn't want to wake to birds singing.

I wanted to sleep.

I wanted to sleep today away, because today was tomorrow, and I had to ask him tomorrow; today. I had to _attempt_ to ask him what he had meant yesterday, today.

Dammit.

Pulling myself from the bed, I showered, taking a little extra time under the hot spray. I needed to clear my head, get my thoughts in order before I suffered a full blown panic attack. They didn't come often, only when I felt completely helpless, like I was spiraling out of control with nothing and no one to grab onto. For the longest time it had felt that way, been that way. I had my first while picking out shoes to go with my wedding dress.

It was ugly.

Red face, snot dripping, wads of spit flying - ugly.

And all over the height of a heel.

But then again, it really wasn't the heel that upset me was it?

Turning off the shower, I stepped out and dried myself, pulling on a tank and cutoffs while still in the bathroom. I didn't want to take any chances. We'd both become too comfortable; so comfortable that we wound up getting carried away.

And now what?

I had no control, was what.

Sure, I could go digging in the trash and take the pill in spite of what he'd said, but did I really want to?

I didn't know.

I didn't know if I wanted to have kids.

I didn't know if I didn't.

I had been told so many times throughout my life what I wanted, that I didn't know what I wanted anymore.

I just didn't know.

Raking my hands through my wet hair, I decided to let it air-dry as I stepped out of the steam and into the cool hallway. My bare feet padded against the squeaky boards, stopping once they reached the threshold of the living room. I hadn't stepped a foot in it since the day Alice showed me; too busy to sit down; too put-out by the mothy smell of the old fabric. This part of the house was eerily quiet; too cold - in both décor, and lack of a certain warmth in the stuffy air. Something was missing; something important. And it wasn't just a throw rug, or lack of my favorite swing back chair.

* * *

Edward didn't show that day and I slept fitfully; sore from a morning of priming and an afternoon of painting. I was surprised with how much I'd actually got done with just a day's worth of work. But it was either keep myself busy, or slowly go crazy; although I felt like I was doing a little of both.

The foyer however was coming along nicely; the taupe paint perfect and complementary of the dark-stained wood; the subtle shade making the white trim pop.

If it weren't for the sore muscles, I think I would have liked painting; how it focused my attention and tuned out everything else. I still thought about him, but not as much as when I was taking a break; memories running rampant while sitting at the well-acquainted table, or drinking some water out of the faucet that he'd fixed, and now here, lying in bed, tossing and turning, all I could do was think about him, dream about him; how different the house felt when he was around, how different it would feel if he stayed, if we did have a baby - filled the whole house with them.

Flipping on the bedside stereo, I set it low, turning back over to avoid the bright, green glow. I needed some noise to relax.

It was too quiet to sleep.

* * *

_Wednesday_

The next morning went much like the first; woke up to birds, took a long shower, got dressed in the bathroom, and then started to paint.

I had just finished a second coat on the main entryway when I heard him pull in, leaving my stomach a jumbled up mess that jumped with every pop in the sparsely laid gravel.

This was it and I wasn't ready.

Flittering to the front window, the bottoms of my sweaty feet felt sticky against the cool floor.

_I can do this._

_I can do this._

I internally chanted, my pounding heart not in total agreement with my head. It was spinning, dizzy with wild thoughts and overpowering feelings; how good he looked in those light-washed, paint-stained, hugged-in-all-the-right-spots pair of Wranglers.

My eyes strained to follow them, and I lightly bumped my forehead against the plate glass, watching his heavy strides till he disappeared behind the shed door.

I waited for what seemed like forever, before he came back out, only to grab the toolbox from the bed of his truck and head right back inside again.

Never having been in there myself, I wondered what he could've been doing, if he knew what was in there. Was he storing extra tools? Fixing something else that I didn't realize was broken?

Was he avoiding me?

It would have been crazy for him to come all the way to my place just to avoid me, but I wouldn't put it passed him after all he had done. He was strange; strange, but in the most fascinating way.

Pushing away from the window, I picked up my pan and roller, took them to the kitchen, and placed them in the sink to sit and soak.

My stomach rumbled in hunger; I'd been so wrapped up in all my worry over whether or not he'd show today, I'd forgotten to eat.

Another grumble and I grabbed a packet of pop-tarts out of the cupboard, poured a large glass of ice-cold milk, and sat down at the table. Tearing open the package I picked off the edges and shoved them in my mouth, taking small sips in between big bites.

There was something about stopping that made me not want to start again, painting, that is.

Now that I was sitting, I just felt like being lazy, going back to bed and forgetting about the rest of the world and this unsettled feeling growing inside of me. I didn't like feeling this way; so unglued; as though my pieces and parts were just that - pieces and parts. I wasn't exactly numb, more like apathetic, as if my mind had detached from my emotions; most likely protecting itself from the inevitable fallout, and me from going crazy. I could sense it brewing - the crazy. I had it in me, I knew that much. And I knew that if he wanted to, he could bring it out. He held the power to work me up into a frenzy if he wanted to ... if I let him.

Finishing off the rest of the cinnamony goodness, I downed the last of the milk and placed the glass in the sink. If I was going to do this, I needed to do it, just get it over with; go out there, and ask him to explain, ask him what he meant when he said I didn't need the pill; if he couldn't have kids, and if he could, did he want them, and if he did want them, did he want them with me? I wanted, no, needed to know what we were; what this was, and where we were going. Was it going anywhere? Was it already there? Or was he just biding his time, using me for a warm place to wet his dick?

Okay, that last part was a little harsh and a whole lot bitter, which was the last thing I wanted to be. And really, how was I acting any different? Letting him possessively grope me out in the open, and down a darkened hallway; begging him to make me forget, my actions screaming at the top of their lungs that he was a distraction, and that_ I_ was the one using _him_. How was it any different?

He didn't ask me to come over in the middle of the night and disturb his peace without offering any explanation. He didn't force me to watch the porn, get all hot and bothered and then fuck him into emotional submission. _I_ did that. _I_ stumbled upon him at his most vulnerable; add onto it the influence of drugs, and he was mine - all mine. He even said so.

_Sinking down onto him, I involuntarily clenched; so sensitive, somewhat sore still from our last go around. I shivered as he ran his hands along my legs, roaming over my hips, to flatten against the small of my back. Lowering his forehead onto my chest, the maddening scratch of his coarse beard tickled the skin between my breasts._

_Nice and slow._

_I gave it to him nice and slow; lifting till I felt the ring of his tip, and then dropping down to pull him in deep. His grip tightened with each moan, the way I grinded my hips into his, trying to take him impossibly deeper._

_It wasn't enough._

_It was never enough._

_Not until he told me to take it, take him._

_"Fuck," he cursed. "It's yours." Leaning his sweaty head back, he looked up and into my eyes; the jungle green never seeming so torn and tangled._

_"All yours."_

Shivering, I shook the memory, willing the warmth in my cheeks to cool along with the heat building between my legs. He didn't say much, but when he did, it was heard, felt. And I tingled.

His voice went straight to my brain, sending out signals to all the erogenous zones on my body. And apparently I was their shameless sex slave, bending at their every whim, and then right over a table if they happened to want me to. It was almost embarrassing; how the very depths of his timber had me ready and spread for him. Even now, in the midst of all this fear and confusion, I wanted him. I always wanted him. And the more he gave the more I wanted; his body, his love, his memories, his life. I wanted to be a part of it. I wanted it all.

Hearing the roaring engine of his truck, I snapped to attention, running to the front door, and opening it just in time to see the setting sun reflecting off his retreating taillights.

_Well, shit._

* * *

_Thursday_

Birds.

Shower.

I walked out naked, because I wasn't getting dressed in the goddamn bathroom again. This was my house dammit, and if I wanted to walk around naked, in a towel, fully dressed or however-the-fuck otherwise, well then, that's what I was gonna do.

Digging through my bundled mess of unfolded clothes, I pulled out a pair of tan panties and the white, cotton dress Alice wouldn't let me give back. And I was kind of thankful for that. I didn't have many nice things, mainly because I didn't really know what classified as nice. But this was … nice; soft against my skin, brought out what was left of my summer tan. Maybe a little too short for my liking, but I could get over that; I had okay-enough legs. Adding an opened, thin, gray sweater, I toed on white flip-flops, and grabbed my purse, leaving my hair down to dry in the wind from the rolled-down windows. It was finally getting long enough where I didn't have to fuss and worry about frizz; the weight of it keeping the loose curls calm and wavy. I was a minimalist, and eternally grateful my hair allotted me to be.

Pulling into Rose's driveway, I killed the engine, causing the neighbor's dogs to wake, and roar up into a ruckus. I didn't know how Rose could stand it. One wrong move and those dogs didn't quit.

Popping the driver's side open, I climbed out and straightened the skirt of my dress. And with the slam of my car door, the dogs started up again.

"We're back here!" I heard Alice yell, followed by an "Ow, dammit, that hurt," which let me know that Rose had smacked her loud mouth for helping stir up the excitable hounds.

The broken bits of rock leading to Rose's backyard were much easier to maneuver without the three inch heels, but I could still feel every sharp point through the cushion of my rubber soles; a few slowing me down as they popped off the sides and in between my toes, before reaching the smooth cement slab that made-up Rose's back patio.

The first thing I noticed rounding the corner of the house was that I could see Edward's cabin. Without the distraction of a sea full of bodies, I could see it perfectly through a single row of thin, pine trees. I could see it, his truck, and the electric-blue Mustang parked right in front. My heart double-skipped, surprised to see he had a visitor.

"Hey beautiful, long time, no see," Rose greeted, grabbing my upper arms and kissing both cheeks.

_Oh … __Okay …_

Alice was next in line, her toothy smile disappearing as she threw both arms around my waist. Pulling back, she kept one wrapped tightly around me, leading me to a chair at the table, before finally letting go.

"We missed you," she spoke for the both of them, and Rose nodded, handing me a plate full of finger foods.

"How have you been? What have you been up to?"

Popping a bacon wrap in my mouth, I took my time chewing, trying not to look in the direction of Edward's house. I sipped at the flute of orange juice before telling them I'd been busy with renovations; stripping, cleaning, priming, and then painting the walls, leaving out all the drama in between. They didn't need to know how I got utterly shit-faced, begged Edward to take care of all my emotional problems, and then after he did, gave me a whole heap of new ones.

I wasn't blaming him or anything; I knew I was just as much at fault, if not more so. I just wished he'd talk to me about it, maybe take the time to see that I was shaken, that throwing pills away and stating I didn't need them, did not ease or comfort in any way. I wanted his hands and his arms. I wanted them wrapped around me. I wanted them rubbing the worry right out of my tense muscles. And then I wanted his mouth, and his lips. I wanted their words. I wanted them talking and soothing, telling me everything was going to be okay, and then showing me how. I wanted him telling me, showing me, making me believe that everything was going to be okay.

"So, I've got some news," Alice said, bringing my gaze from the thin line of trees to her smiling face.

"You're pregnant," Rose deadpanned, sipping from her flute of O.J., as Alice's mouth dropped open.

"How the hell did you know?" Alice shrieked, causing Rose to choke, and her eyes to go wide.

"Oh my God," she coughed out. "I didn't!"

Pinching my lips shut, I tried not to laugh, but I could feel it in my stomach, rising with the corners of my mouth, causing my shoulders to lightly shake. I sat back as they both rose and embraced, jumping up and down, before wiping away each other's happy tears.

It wasn't until the men came out from inside the house that I felt out of place; watching them hug their women and offer light slaps to each other's backs. Apparently Jasper had no jobs on this nice, sunny day. And Emmett, he was always there, working out of the home, building some type of software.

While they all gathered round, giving congrats and shy thanks, my gaze followed the beam of sunlight to where it shined on the quiet cabin; my heart seizing, as the door swung open, and a long-haired redhead stepped out onto the porch. It was damn near impossible to breathe, seeing Edward appear right behind her; the burn so painful, as she turned to embrace him, and he let her place a kiss on his downturned cheek.

* * *

As some of you may have noticed this is about a week overdue... so, I'm not giving a schedule anymore. You'll get it when you get it ;) Love you :D


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